A Land of Magic
by lloranpiedras
Summary: After being drawn into a trap, Arthur is catapulted into a parallel world - one where he was never born. What he finds there brings home some truths about his own world: maybe if he can learn to accept them, he can get home. Meanwhile, his friends back in Camelot are left to deal with a Kingdom without a King. First fanfic.
1. The Lost Knights

**Chapter 1 – The Lost Knights**

As Arthur leant back against the wall of the cave, rubbing his bruised and scraped knuckles, the thought crossed his mind that maybe, just this once, he should have listened to Merlin.

It had all started as just another patrol, a routine inspection of Camelot's borders – and yet, somehow, events had escalated to the point that Arthur now found himself in his current… predicament…

Running through the events in his mind once again, Arthur thought back to the moment when things had started going wrong. Until just yesterday everything had been going well (or was it the day before? It was hard to tell the passing of time in the cave). The patrol had encountered very few difficulties, and the whole outing had proven to be entirely uneventful – in fact, the patrol had discovered so little sign of bandits, or indeed any other threat in the area, that they had decided to return to Camelot a couple of days early. And in order to speed up the journey home, they had decided to take a shortcut through the Valley of the Fallen Kings.

Yes, that was when events had suddenly spiralled out of control. Maybe, Arthur decided, just maybe, Merlin might have been on to something with his distrust of the Valley.

Of course, Merlin had been against the whole expedition from the start. As he had somewhat vehemently pointed out, Arthur's duty was in Camelot itself – after Morgana's most recent usurpation, there was a great deal of work to be done rebuilding the city, and ensuring the continued safety of its inhabitants. There were all sorts of matters that needed attending to: managing the now diminished supplies of food and ensuring the farmers were able to grow crops again, training new knights and soldiers, reassuring the citizens… Not to mention all the regular Kingly duties of upholding the law and dealing with the neighbouring kingdoms. And of course, Arthur was needed to oversee it all. As Merlin pointed out, there were plenty of loyal and proficient knights to patrol the kingdom - the King himself wasn't needed.

However, the monotony of courtly life and his kingly duties had started to take their toll on the young King. Guinevere had become the only relief for the increasing pressure he was under, but even she wasn't able to lift the burden he was carrying. Arthur needed some time away to clear his mind and escape the castle life if only for a few days – to pretend that the kingdom didn't rest in his shoulders alone. Someone else could take care of things while he was away.

That someone had turned out to be Merlin. After having been on the receiving end of what could only be described as a lecture from his servant about responsibility, Arthur had snapped and insisted that if he knew so much about it then maybe he could handle his duties for a few days, and announced his intention to lead the next patrol. Of course, once he had had a moment to think about it more clearly he had chosen instead to leave his wife and Sir Leon in charge of the castle – but had decided that he would trust Merlin with all the paperwork at least. Even if it had been born out of a sense of petty revenge, that was a significant gesture of trust on Arthur's part – some of the documents he had left with Merlin contained the details of the recent negotiations with King Vortigern, whose Welsh warriors were the only thing currently keeping the Saxons out of the South, and thus away from Camelot. They were not documents to be left in the wrong hands.

Arthur had to admit to himself that even he had been somewhat surprised by his decision, but then again his relationship with his manservant had changed quite drastically over recent weeks. The Morgana affair, as well as all that business with the sword in the stone, had led Arthur to realise how much trust he had in the young man – and how much he relied upon him. He had always been aware that there was more to the servant than the bumbling fool he appeared on the surface, but it was only now that he was starting to realise how much was hidden beneath the seemingly simple exterior. Arthur had finally come to realise that Merlin was a great deal more intelligent that he let on – and that, despite his many eccentricities he was actually a lot more competent that Arthur gave him credit for.

Not that Merlin had seemed particularly grateful for the sudden recognition – in fact, he had been very insistent that he accompany Arthur on the patrol, rather than remain in Camelot. At first, Arthur had thought that it was the thought of all the paperwork that had suddenly made his manservant eager to face danger alongside the King once again – it was only later that Arthur had realised that Merlin was worried about Arthur's wellbeing, and genuinely believed that his presence on the patrol would offer some form of protection. Arthur had laughed off any suggestion that he couldn't take care of himself on the patrol, and had forcefully left his somewhat sullen manservant at the castle.

It only occurred to Arthur now that perhaps if he had brought Merlin with him after all, none of this might have actually happened. Despite his uselessness in a fight, the young man did have an almost unerring instinct for danger – and a wariness and distrust of the Valley of Fallen Kings that Arthur vowed he would pay more attention to in future. Had Merlin been with them, Arthur might never have made the questionable decision to stop for the night in the valley, and instead continued on a little further to a safer haven.

Arthur dropped his head between his knees, and remembered the events of that day.

* * *

It seemed like a sensible idea at the time - after all, the Valley offered shelter and water, and most bandits avoided the place out of fear of 'the curse'. Evening was drawing in, and the overcast sky was threatening rain in the near future – and as they weren't due back in Camelot for another few days there seemed no harm in stopping early for the night, taking advantage of the shelter where they could find it.

That evening progressed like any other, with the knights settling down to sleep after setting up a watch rota for the night. It wasn't until Arthur woke up the following morning that he realised something was amiss - Sir Percival was supposed to have woken him sometime before dawn for his turn on watch, but that time had clearly passed. Although it was possible that Sir Percival had chosen to instead carry on with the watch to allow Arthur to sleep, it was unlikely – Arthur had been very specific that he wasn't to be given special treatment just because he was King. Propping himself up on his elbows, Arthur turned to take a look around the camp. Of the five knights who had accompanied him, Sir Elyan, Sir Lamorak and Sir Tristan (who had only been knighted a couple of weeks ago) were still fast asleep – but Sir Percival, and Sir Gareth who had been on watch before him, were nowhere to be seen.

Arthur didn't lose any time waking up the rest of the knights, and starting a search. For two knights to just wander off while on watch, without waking any of their companions, was too out of character – something must have happened to them while everyone else was asleep. Spreading out around the camp, the knights began looking for clues to indicate what might have happened to their missing companions. It wasn't long before they found something.

"Sire! Over here!" Elyan's voice sounded across the clearing.

Rushing to his side, Arthur bent over to see what Elyan had found. There on the ground was a set of footprints leading away from the camp. They looked fairly fresh, indicating that whoever the prints belonged to had passed that way only a few hours ago.

"Only the one set of prints" Arthur murmured thoughtfully, "Too small to belong to Percival, but they could be Gareth's…" He rubbed the dirt thoughtfully, before looking ahead to see if there was any indication of a trail they could follow. Sure enough, there were a few signs ahead that a body had pushed through the undergrowth – a faint trail, but more than enough for a skilled tracker like Arthur. He made up his mind.

"Elyan, Lamorak – stay here at the camp. I need you to search for any more signs, see if you can find out what happened to Percival – and we need someone here in case they decide to come back. Tristan, with me. Lets see where these tracks lead."

And with that, he set off with Tristan in tow.

* * *

Arthur shifted his position on the cave floor, trying to find a more comfortable position. He had definitely been here for several hours now, and he was starting to feel stiff and cold. Just how long was he going to be trapped in this place?

Groaning, and resting his head against the rock wall, he thought back to the results of the ill-fated search.

* * *

"Nothing, Sire. It just ends"

"It can't be!" Arthur followed Tristan to the edge of the cliff, and desperately searched for any indication of where the trail might lead – but, as Tristan said, there was nothing to be seen. Just a couple of footprints in the mud leading to the cliff wall, and then… nothing.

"They can't have just disappeared" Arthur repeated "Maybe they climbed the cliff?" he started testing the wall for handholds, looking for any way in which a person could have continued on from the end of the trail.

"Not likely, Sire" Tristan pointed upwards, towards where the cliff angled outwards above their heads "The first metre or so, maybe, but I'd like to see you try to climb that in full armour. No, either they walked into the cliff wall, or there's something we've missed".

They spent the next hour or so scouring the area for any sign of the missing knights, any hint that someone might have walked that way. But it proved hopeless – besides the clear footsteps by the cliff, there was no indication that anyone had been in this area of the valley for some time. In a moment of frustration, Arthur kicked a large stone from the ground at the cliff – it rebounded, hitting a nearby tree with some force and leaving behind a thin scar in the bark.

"There's nothing here. Either they came this way and disappeared, or we're following a false trail. Look, lets get back to the camp, Elyan and Lamorak might have found something else. We've been gone too long, anyway."

But upon their return to camp, they were met with another surprise. Instead of the two knights waiting for them, they returned to an empty camp. In fact, once again it looked like the two knights had just vanished into the air – and from the looks of things, rather suddenly. The camp fire had been lit recently and was showing no signs of dying down, and hanging above it was a pot of stew that was only just beginning to burn. A couple of bowls and spoons had been laid down next to the fire, one of the packs was lying open beside a log with a couple of loose items dropped beside it, and Elyan's sword was propped up in the ground as if it had just been forgotten.

It looked like the knights had just vanished in the middle of what they were doing. No warning, not even enough for Elyan to pick up his weapon – just… gone.

That was the final straw for the King. Worry for his knights, as well as frustration at the lack of any kind of clue as to what might have happened to them, had caused his temper to reach boiling point, and he had lashed out. Throwing the now smoking stew away from the fire, he had proceeded to storm around the camp swearing under his breath for several minutes, before dropping suddenly onto one of the logs and sinking his head into his hands.

Tristan, the more level headed of the two, took a more practical approach. While Arthur stormed the camp, he set about searching for more signs of the missing knights – but after yet another fruitless search, he too gave in and sat on the log beside Arthur.

"We can't stay here" Tristan was the first to break the silence. "We're not safe here – whatever happened to the others could happen to us too. We need to get back to Camelot."

"Hmph" Arthur grunted, refusing to acknowledge the truth of Tristan's words.

"You're the King of Camelot – you're too important to your people. We can't risk losing you."

"I can't leave them." Arthur turned to Tristan "What sort of King would I be if I just abandoned them – we need to find out where they've gone, rescue them if we can. We can't just leave them to some unknown fate."

"I understand Arthur – but what can we do? We have no idea where they are, no idea even where to start looking! And any minute the same fate could befall us – we need to get you to safety soon. Once we're out of the valley, we can go back to Camelot and gather reinforcements – with more knights we can perform a better search. You know I'm right, don't you?"

Arthur grunted again, looking uncertain, before opening his mouth to reply – but whatever it was he intended to say was cut short by the sound of a twig snapping behind them.

Arthur didn't hesitate. In an instant he was facing the other side of the clearing, sword drawn and ready – only to find that the figure facing him wasn't quite what he expected.

The figure of an old man stepped into the clearing. He was dressed in a long robe, and held himself tall and straight despite his age. He was weaponless, and there was a benign look to his face that suggested great kindness and wisdom. There was nothing about the old man that suggested that he was any kind of threat.

Which immediately made Arthur suspicious – appearances could be deceiving, after all. Especially here, in the Valley of the Fallen Kings.

The man stepped forward towards Arthur, his hands extended and open to show his good intentions. Arthur lowered his sword slightly, but remained on alert – there was no telling where this man had come from, or what he intended.

"Fear not, good knights, I mean you no harm. I come with news of your friends. My name is Taliesin."

And with that, Arthur had lowered his defences. If this man knew something about the fate of his knights, then he was prepared to listen.

* * *

In the cave, Arthur shuddered at the memory of his first meeting with the old sorcerer. Who would have believed that such a harmless looking old man could have contrived such a terrible curse.

Arthur had fallen for Taliesin's seemingly innocent persona, and walked straight into a trap.

**A/N: Ok, so this is my first ever fanfic - any comments/criticism would be welcome! I hope it was Ok for a first attempt... New to fanfiction, so help would be very much appreciated :)  
**

**To be honest, i'm not entirely sure how good I'm going to be at uploading (especially given that I'm currently writing this instead of working on my dissertation... um...), but if people actually think its worthwhile continuing I promise to do my best!**


	2. Taliesin

**Chapter 2 – Taliesin**

"Fear not, good knights, I mean you no harm. I come with news of your friends. My name is Taliesin." The old man came to a stop before the frozen men, and waited for them to respond.

Arthur sheathed his sword, and took a step towards him. "The knights? You know where they are?" His suspicions about the mysterious stranger were immediately forgotten, replaced by the need to discover the whereabouts of his men.

"Indeed sir, they have fallen victim to a curse – a result, no doubt, of your prolonged stay in this valley. But do not fear," he reassured them quickly, as Arthur and Tristan's hands once again fell to the hilts of their swords "the curse is not a powerful one, and can be broken. If you would follow me, I can take you to them – they are not far from here."

Beckoning them towards the forest, Taliesin turned and left the clearing. After a moment's hesitation, Arthur and Tristan followed – they may not have entirely trusted the stranger, but so far he was their greatest hope of finding the missing knights. Up until then there had been nothing else to even remotely indicate what might have happened to their companions, and if following Taliesin meant there was a chance of finding them – well, it was worth the risk, wasn't it?

* * *

Arthur stood up, and began pacing in the cave. How could he have been so stupid? It was obvious from the very beginning that Taliesin was not all that he seemed – he should have realised that he didn't mean well to any of them. Looking back now, he cursed himself for not realising at the time that Taliesin was clearly a magic user – and like other sorcerers, he had an ulterior motive.

* * *

Taliesin led the way, following the same route that Arthur and Tristan had taken earlier that day – towards the cliff face where the trail had mysteriously disappeared. However, this time Arthur was shocked to see that the footprints no longer ended at a blank stone wall – instead they continued uninterrupted into the mouth of a cave that had certainly not been there earlier that day.

Coming to a halt, Arthur gaped at the impossible scene before him. He might have questioned whether it really was the same cliff they had arrived at but, looking around, he could still see the scar in the tree from his outburst that morning.

Taliesin continued forward undisturbed, entering the cave with no hesitation. Arthur, however, came to a stop and once again grasped the hilt of his weapon, the blatant example of magic making him distinctly uncomfortable.

"Wait", he called after Taliesin's retreating figure "How do I know that this isn't some kind of trap? That you aren't luring us to our deaths along with the rest of the knights?"

"You do not, young king" the old man replied, stopping just beyond the mouth of the cave but without turning back to Arthur and Tristan, "However, if you wish to see your friends again then you have no choice but to trust me"

And with that, he disappeared into the cave.

Arthur and Tristan glanced at each other – although the hesitation was clear on Tristan's face, Arthur could see that he wasn't ready to give up just yet. Like him, Tristan knew that if they didn't follow Taliesin there was a good chance that their friends would be lost forever, taken by whatever curse haunted the vale. The old man may have been leading them into a trap, but both men were confident warriors – two knights could easily overpower one old man, surely?

* * *

Magic, that's what it always boiled down to. Arthur had grown up listening to his father's lectures on the subject, and until recently had always believed that he understood the dangers of the dark art. He had written it off as something dangerous in the wrong hands, but ultimately no match for a hardened warrior – after all, Uther had succeeded in destroying a great many sorcerers in the Great Purge, had he not? Arthur had arrogantly believed that although magic was still something to be wary of, the time to fear it had long past – that the Pendragons had conquered the Old Religion, and that those few who still practiced it were no longer a true threat to the kingdom.

In fact, a few years ago he had almost come to the conclusion that his father was wrong altogether – that it was possible for magic to be a force for good after all. Of course, Morgause had quickly disabused him of that notion when she tried to manipulate him to kill his father, but even so there had still been that small seed of doubt at the back of his mind that, perhaps, there was more to the story than his father had told him.

The events of the past few years, however, had confused his feelings on the subject. Seeing the way in which magic had destroyed Morgana, how she had turned from the independent minded, compassionate woman he had grown up with into something so twisted and evil that he no longer recognised her, he had started to realise the true danger of sorcery. Not just to the kingdom, but to those who practised it – his father had been right about the corrupting power of sorcery. And then, any lingering good feelings he may have had towards magic had been killed by that cursed Dragoon as effectively as the lunatic old man had apparently murdered his father…

Gaius had explained to Arthur that perhaps there was more to the story than he knew, that maybe Dragoon's intentions hadn't been as dark as Arthur had initially imagined. Arthur was prepared to accept that perhaps the old man had meant well, after all he hadn't seemed particularly dangerous, just a little insane – but his feelings on magic itself had been solidified by that event. Maybe not all magic users were evil in and of themselves, some of them might even have started practicing it for the best reasons, but ultimately magic was not to be trusted – that kind of power came with a price and no good could ever come of meddling with it.

Well, perhaps he did have a sort of wary respect for the druids – from what he had seen they were nothing but peaceful people, healers. They kept to themselves, and so long as it stayed that way he was prepared to tolerate them. Not that he would every truly trust them.

At any rate, as he sat trapped in the Crystal Cave waiting for the uncertain fate that Taliesin had chosen for him, he was reminded once again of all the reasons he distrusted magic. He should have known better than to believe that his sword was any match for a sorcerer's power – but Taliesin had known exactly where to strike most effectively, and by taking his friends had ensured that Arthur would walk into his net eyes open despite all his misgivings.

* * *

Arthur and Tristan advanced warily into the cave, swords drawn and at the ready, eyes darting from side to side looking for the fist sign of any threat. The corridor they were following was narrow, barely wide enough to allow them to pass in single file, and was winding enough that they could see no more than a couple of meters ahead. The light from the opening was quickly left behind, so for a few tense moments they were walking in pitch darkness. Thankfully the tunnel proved to be relatively short, and after a couple of sharp turns that they navigated blindly a faint light appeared ahead of them.

Pushing ahead, the two knights reached the light – and came out on to one of the most spectacular sights either of them had ever seen.

The mouth of the tunnel opened out into an enormous cavern, which was coated, floor to ceiling, in thousands upon thousands of crystals of all shapes and sizes. Everywhere they looked these crystals grew from the walls and protruded from the ceiling like stalactites – pillars ascended through the cave glistening with the precious stones while others just sprouted from the floor like otherworldly plants. These crystals seemed to be emitting a sort of pulsing light which lit up the whole cavern with an ethereal blue glow, while the room throbbed with a background hum – to Arthur, it sounded almost like the sound of hundreds of people talking just beyond the edge of his hearing.

The whole effect would have been immensely beautiful, if it weren't for the sheer feeling of power the cave emitted. It felt to Arthur like there was a sentience to the cave, one that did not welcome his presence – the very air felt threatening and watchful, sending shivers down his back.

This feeling was not helped by the sight in the centre of the cavern. There, standing in a perfect circle, and so still that they might have been carved out of the rock of the cave, stood the missing knights.

The minute he spotted them, Arthur rushed across the cavern. Reaching Sir Elyan first he grasped his brother-in-law by the shoulder, but the knight appeared to be completely unaware of his presence: his eyes were fixed upon a particularly large crystal at the centre of the circle, so focused upon it that he was oblivious to all else. The other knights too were staring into the crystal, though what they saw there Arthur couldn't tell – their expressionless faces gave nothing away. He crept towards the crystal, hoping to find some answers to the mystery, when a hand grabbed his shoulder and turned him around.

"Don't!" Tristan stood next to Arthur, his eyes averted from the crystal and his hand still upon Arthur's shoulder "Are you insane? Whatever happened to them clearly has something to do with this cave and that… thing… Do you want to end up like them?"

"Wise words, Sir Tristan" Taliesin appeared once again in Arthur's field of vision, "You are right to be cautious, but that crystal is not what trapped your friends. True, they are held in its thrall for now, but it is not the reason they were brought here – it is merely holding them for another purpose."

"And that is?" stepping away from the knights, Arthur remained with his back firmly towards the crystal – now that he had realised the danger, he was taking no more chances.

"You"

"What?" Too late, all the pieces fell in to place in Arthur's head "This… this is a trap! You did this… what have you done to them?" Once again, Arthur allowed his anger to get the better of him, and his brandished his sword prepared to run Taliesin through then and there – but, once again, Tristan's cooler head prevailed and he grabbed the impulsive young king by his chain mail, bringing him to an undignified halt.

"Wait! Sire, think this through! If Taliesin created this curse then he knows how to break it – tell me", he turned back to Taliesin and repeated Arthur's question, "what have you done to them?"

"Do not worry, they are in no danger. The crystal merely holds them in a state of suspended animation. Frozen in time" he clarified at their confused expressions. "While they stand there they feel no pain, no hunger, no thirst. They will not tire, death cannot touch them. Until our task here is done they will remain in that state, unaware of the passage of time, and once they are released it will be as if they only blinked while the river of time moved on around them. As I said, I mean them no harm – it is you I wished to speak to"

"So they're the bait, to draw me into a trap" Although he had calmed down on the surface, anger still seethed beneath Arthur's skin – he knew that it would only take one wrong move on Taliesin's part and not even Tristan would be able to save him next time. "Want do you want from me – my death?"

"Of course not, sire!" Taliesin seemed almost insulted at the thought. "All life is a gift, to take it upsets the Balance of the world. No, I brought you here for another reason. There is a lesson you must learn, one that I fear has been far too long in the teaching. It will not be easy, the knowledge of truth never is, but there are many things you must come to accept in order for you to become the King you were destined to be. Once we are done here, I will free your knights from the spell, and allow you to return to Camelot unhindered"

"Very well, what is this 'lesson' you want me to learn? Tell me, and then let us go!" Arthur ignored Tristan's warning glare, waving his sword threateningly in Taliesin's direction.

"It will not be so easy, and the story is a long one – please, seat yourselves" he gestured at a ridge to one side of the cavern "and I will explain why we are here… No?" as Arthur and Tristan remained standing stiffly where they were, the King's glare only intensifying "Very well. I shall start at the beginning. Long ago, before your ancestor, Brutur, came to this land, I worked as a seer to the kings of old…"

"Wait a second" Tristan interrupted "You were a seer to the ancient kings? But that was over three hundred years ago, its not possible – no-one can live that long!"

"Normally that would be true – but I will explain, have patience. As I was saying, I worked as a seer for the ancient kings – for my brother, Ambrosius, who was once King of the land you now call Camelot, and for his son, and his son after him. In those times magic was much more widely practiced than it was even in the years before your father began his purge, with druids and high priests of the Old Religion working closely with kings and lords – a Golden Age of magic, in which impossible feats were attempted daily, miracles commonplace… A wondrous age, my lord…"

Arthur snorted "Get on with it"

"As a young man I studied among the druids, learning the secrets of their craft – but it very soon became obvious that my power far exceeded their humble arts. I decided to leave them and make my way to the Isle of the Blessed, in the hopes that I would be able to further my education there, but on the way I found myself summoned from the path towards an unknown call. I felt an unfamiliar power drawing me, and trusting to fate I decided to follow it. After much journeying I found myself here, and here I found my destiny."

"Ah, where is here, exactly?" Tristan interrupted again.

"The Crystal Cave. This is the source of magic."

* * *

The source of magic.

Arthur shuddered, the uncomfortable feeling once again crawling down his back. He couldn't wait to be rid of this place, where the magic in the air was so thick it was almost tangible. Even the knowledge of what awaited him once he left the cave was preferable to being surrounded by such sheer magical power.

It couldn't be long now. He could swear that the light ahead was changing – soon he would be free of this tomb, ready to brave the challenge before him.

* * *

"The power in this cave is woven into the very fabric of magic, tied to the balance of the world. To those who know how to wield it this cave contains the power of time itself – as a seer, I was able to look into the crystals lining the walls of this cave and see events that had not yet come to pass, events that may never come to pass. And the first time I accessed this power, a task was laid upon me. I saw the time of the Great Purge, although that time was still many centuries distant, and saw the upheaval such an event would cause to the Balance – but I also saw hope. I saw in the crystals the dawn of a new age, the age of the Once and Future King ruling over a united land of Albion – an age of unparalleled peace and magic, ruled over by the greatest King this land will ever see. That King is you."

"…what?" For a moment Arthur found himself speechless, the sudden tide of information leaving him stranded in its wake. "You… you think… Once and Future King?" He struggled for a moment, trying to put his confusion into words. On the one hand what Taliesin was suggesting seemed to be impossible, he couldn't see himself as some kind of prophesied King, certainly not one to rule over a land of magic anyway, but on the other… he couldn't help but feel as if he had heard those words before somewhere…

For a moment, Arthur caught a glimpse in his minds eye of Merlin's face lit by the light of a campfire, his earnest voice trying to explain something about swords and prophesies and Albion… but the image was gone a second later when Tristan's voice cut through his thoughts.

"So, what you're saying is that Arthur here is supposed to be some kind of great King – and you went to all the trouble luring us here just to tell him that? Why not just come to Camelot yourself? There must be more - what else do you have planned for us?"

"Arthur will one day become this King, it is true, and my people wait in hope for the coming of that day. However, the future is not set in stone, it is our actions which shape it - and if Arthur continues down the path set by his father the day we have all been waiting for may never arrive, replaced by a darker future of war and bloodshed. I cannot allow this to happen. In order to truly become the King this land deserves, he must learn to embrace everything that this land embodies – and this includes magic. That was the task laid upon me by the crystals, what I have waited in this cave so many years to accomplish." Taliesin turned back to Arthur, looking him directly in the eye "Until you truly learn the value of magic, Arthur, until you truly understand the sacrifices that were made to bring you into this world, you will never be allowed to return to your Kingdom"

There was a long silence following this ultimatum, broken only by the incessant humming of the cave which seemed to have grown to a crescendo while Taliesin made his speech.

Eventually Arthur found his voice. He had been shocked during the old man's monologue, but that shock was once again giving way to the anger he had felt since the beginning of the ordeal.

"How do you intend to stop me? I have listened to your story, old man, and have heard nothing to convince me that you are anything but a senile fool who has spent far too long living alone in a cave. I have seen what magic has accomplished in this kingdom and, believe me, I want no part in it! Now you have a choice: release my friends and allow us to walk free, or die where you stand – and hopefully this enchantment will die with you!"

Leaving his threat to hang in the air for a moment, Arthur waited for Taliesin to respond – but when the man neglected to show any response, he sighed regretfully. "So be it", raising his sword again he aimed to strike out at the figure before him, only to find that he had been frozen in place – without the aid of Tristan this time, who had been frozen in a similar position beside him having clearly lost patience along with the king.

"You cannot hurt me, young King, nor can you leave this cave until I say so. My gift is great, and this is a place of powerful magic – you have no power here." He released the two knights slowly, having successfully made his point – the two men lowered their swords warily and made no move to attack, although they remained poised in case the sorcerer should make any more threats. "Now it is my turn to offer you a choice. You have two options: the first, remain in this cave with your knights, frozen for all time, while the rest of the world continues without you. Your city will fall, and the Golden Age of Albion I foretold will never come to pass - but there are people out there with power enough to ensure that the world does not fall all the way into darkness. Eventually the balance will be restored, but it will take time."

"And the other option?" Arthur sheathed his sword, knowing now that it was useless in this situation. He would hear Taliesin out, and find out what he was prepared to offer.

"A test. One that, if you pass, will allow you to return to your land a wiser man and bring about the long foretold age of Albion. This cave holds the power of time, all time. To a person powerful enough, it can be used as a portal to other worlds – worlds similar to yours but with slight differences, where choices were made that led the worlds in other directions to the one you know. One of these worlds is almost identical to this one, but with a single difference: in this world, you were never born."

"So, what is the nature of the test?" Although the wariness was still there, Arthur couldn't deny a sense of intrigue at Taliesin's words. A world where he had never been born? Was there really such a place?

"Travel to this other world. I guarantee that all the things that have been hidden from you, all those truths that you have been reluctant to acknowledge, will be revealed to you there. If you can accept them, you will eventually be allowed to return home. That is your choice: remain here for all time, or visit this new land. Pass my test, and you and your knights will return to Camelot – fail, and there will be no Camelot to return to."

* * *

The light ahead had definitely brightened – the time had finally come. Pushing himself up from his position on the floor of the crystal cave, Arthur worked out the stiffness in his legs before setting out resolutely in the direction of the light.

Despite his remaining anger at Taliesin, he couldn't ignore the rising sense of adventure he was feeling at the prospect of the new world. A world where the past twenty years of his life had never happened – where there was no King Arthur. He couldn't deny the excitement building at the prospect of freedom from his responsibilities, even at such an expense.

He would take Taliesin's test – the man had said that there were truths that had been hidden from him. Well, he would find these 'truths' and deal with them as he saw fit – he had never backed down from any challenge, and there was no way he was backing down from this one, not when there was so much at stake.

Reaching the entrance to the cave, the light of day beckoned him forward. A new world called.

**A/N: Well, that chapter got away from me a bit! I hope the pacing was OK - I'm trying to get all the background information in so I can move on to the main story, but still had to cut out loads in order to get it to a reasonable length... Hope it worked, anyway!**

**Thanks to everyone who reviewed, alerted and favourited the last chapter - it really means a lot :) I hope you all enjoyed this chapter too.  
**

**I would also like to thank my lovely housemate, who took time out of her busy gaming schedule to proofread the first draft ;)  
**


	3. A Vision

**Chapter 3 – A Vision**

"Merlin?"

Sir Leon's voice broke through the silence. Until then, the sound of rain falling against the windows had been the only sound heard in the small chamber high within Camelot's walls, the steady drumming drowning out the scratch of the quill in Merlin's hand as it worked its way across the parchment on the table in front of him.

Seated at Arthur's desk, the young man was poring over a pile of documents as thick as one of Gaius' medical tomes, occasionally making notes on a piece of parchment to one side. The documents had been lent to him by the court genealogist, Geoffrey of Monmouth, upon his request a few days ago, and contained records of all the dealings between King Uther and King Vortigern of Powys. He was dimly aware of Sir Leon's presence beside him, but so focused was he upon the documents at hand that his mind had yet to fully register the voice calling his name.

"Merlin!"

This time a hand on his shoulder joined the voice, shaking him gently – and then slightly harder as he failed to respond. Finally snapping out of his trance, Merlin blinked in the gloom of the chamber a few times, blearily focusing on the figure of the knight standing to the side of his desk. Laying his quill down for a moment, Merlin leaned back in his chair rubbing his eyes. It had been another long day, ensconced in Arthur's study with no-one but himself for company, so Sir Leon's unexpected presence came as something of a welcome surprise.

"Leon! What is it? More reports from the council?" He gave the knight a tired smile, before suppressing a yawn with his hand.

"Um…" the knight looked surprised for a moment, before focusing more closely on the man before him. "No. Merlin…" he began again, speaking slowly as if to ensure that Merlin fully understood what he was trying to say, "Don't you think you should have gone back to Gaius' by now? It's late."

For the first time since Leon arrived in the study, Merlin took the opportunity to have a proper look around the chamber. Only now did he properly take in the shadows in the corner of the room, which the light from the stump of his flickering candle didn't quite reach. Glancing out the window, he could see nothing but darkness behind the raindrops which ran down the small panes of glass, proof that time had indeed escaped him. He had been working himself particularly hard that day, in an attempt to dispel the slight sense of foreboding that had been creeping down his spine for the majority of the afternoon.

Groaning, the warlock dropped his head into his hands, the headache from earlier in the day returning with full force, accompanied now by an unpleasant buzzing in his ears.

"What time is it?" he asked, his voice muffled by the hands that now covered his face.

"Late, past midnight" the knight seemed to sense Merlin's discomfort, leaving Merlin's side momentarily to grab a chair from across the room, seating himself to the side of the desk Merlin was currently occupying. "Are you alright? I was on my way to my chambers to retire for the night, and saw the light of your candle shining through the door – I couldn't believe you would still be here at this hour of the night."

Merlin snorted briefly into his hands, dragging them down his face, before pushing himself up out of his chair and propelling himself across the room to where a water pitcher stood on a small table in the corner. Pouring himself a drink, he downed it while using one hand to support his body against the wall, and then allowed himself to slide down the wall so that he was sitting in the corner facing Leon, lacking the energy to make his way across the short distance back to his chair.

"Lost track of time" he muttered while pinching his forehead above his nose, trying to dispel the increasing headache.

Across the room, Sir Leon raised an eyebrow while giving the young man a look of sympathy. "You've been pushing yourself too hard, Merlin" the man commented, giving the organised stacks of paper on the desk a critical glance. "I can't fault your dedication to your work, but even you can only handle so much."

Smiling at the knight once again, Merlin leaned his head back against the wall. "Well, you know me, Leon. Always willing to work hard for my King". Closing his eyes against the pain, he heard the knight snort softly before reaching for one of the documents on the desk.

Although he had known Sir Leon the longest out of all the knights, barring perhaps Lancelot (and Merlin once again felt a twinge of sorrow at the thought of that honourable knight), the two had never really been particularly close. Whole there had always been a good deal of respect between them, born out of their dedication to Arthur and a mutual trust of the other's strong sense of loyalty, there had always been that difference in status between the two men – one he didn't notice quite so much with any of the other knights, or even Arthur. However, working together much more closely over the past week, at Arthur's behest, had led to the strengthening of a bond between the two: Merlin had found himself beginning to form a closer friendship with the noble knight, though he suspected that Sir Leon would never be able to truly overlook Merlin's status as a servant.

Listening to the rustle of paper as Sir Leon flicked through some of the pieces of parchment he had retrieved from the desk, Merlin allowed his mind to wander back over the previous week.

When Arthur had left the city almost seven days ago, Merlin had initially been angry at being left behind. Knowing the amount of trouble the prince was capable of getting in to, he was conscious that his own special skills might very well be needed on the journey. Although Merlin knew that the king was more than capable of protecting himself against mundane threats, there were still many other dangers out there with the potential to harm, or even kill, him. All kinds of magical beasts roamed the forests of Camelot, as Merlin was all too painfully aware, and there were still sorcerers out there who harboured a grudge against the son of the man who had persecuted their kind – the Lady Morgana was just the most recent example, and even if they hadn't heard from the witch in many months there was still the possibility that she was merely lying in wait for the opportune moment to return to the fight. Any one of the many magic users with ill will towards Camelot could easily take the chance to attack the king while he was away from the protection of his city.

Under any normal circumstance, Merlin would have been following at Arthur's heels the minute he left the city walls.

Unfortunately, these weren't exactly normal circumstances. After years and years of underestimating Merlin and treating him like nothing more than a well-meaning fool, Arthur had unexpectedly come to the realisation, in an inexplicable moment of insight, that Merlin really was capable of more than he allowed Arthur to see – and had promptly left him with what had sounded like the dullest job in the castle, keeping him busy while Arthur was away.

Merlin was certain that leaving him with all the paperwork had been Arthur's twisted idea of some kind of punishment, although for what he wasn't really sure. At first he had considered just leaving the pile of parchment on Arthur's desk, letting the prat deal with it when he returned, while Merlin himself followed Arthur to the border – but that idea had quickly died when he realised that Arthur had, knowingly, left much of the running of his kingdom in Merlin's hands while he was away, even if only for a week. Merlin had understood in that moment of clarity that Arthur was, in his own way, finally admitting the trust he had in Merlin – acknowledging the existence of the bond between the two men, even if he had yet to understand what it meant.

Merlin, despite appearances, was a man who took his responsibilities very seriously. He knew that, having been given this particular duty by Arthur, he had an obligation to complete it to the best of his ability. This wasn't like cleaning out the stables or polishing armour, but rather a precursor to something more – a hint of the role Merlin hoped to one day openly play in the future Camelot, as Arthur's advisor and trusted friend. Even if it was only a small step in the right direction, it was not something he was prepared to mess up.

He just had to hope that if Arthur did encounter any trouble on his journey, Merlin would be able to sense it through the bond they both shared. He always seemed to know instinctively when the overbearing fool had got in over his head, so hopefully he would get enough warning of a threat to render some aid – although any help would be diminished by distance.

Not that he would be any help at all right now, he reflected. Bringing his hand to his forehead again, he felt the heat radiating from his skin. The pain in his head seemed to be increasing, pressure building behind his eyes, and the buzzing in his ears was building to a crescendo – he could swear the sound was almost familiar, like it reminded him of somewhere…

All of a sudden he yelped as a series of images seemed to flash through his mind, while the pain suddenly spiked in his head. The vision passed in only the briefest of seconds, and Merlin was left gasping against the wall of the study, scrunching his eyes and holding his head in his hands.

"Merlin!" Sir Leon was at his side in seconds, his hand grasping Merlin's shoulders, the documents he had been holding left scattered on the floor beside the desk. "Merlin? What's wrong? Speak to me!"

Gathering his thoughts, Merlin tried to figure out what had just happened. The vision, or whatever it had been, was quickly fading, but three images still stood out clearly in his mind. The first was the most worrying: Arthur sitting on the floor of the crystal cave – for a moment, Merlin was prepared to flee Camelot to go to the aid of the King then and there, but there had been no sense of danger accompanying the image. The second was more foreboding, showing a ruined tower looming against the night sky, while a large army camped on the hill around it. The final image was equally confusing, a young man with auburn hair sitting beside a campfire – the man was a complete stranger to Merlin, and yet, somehow, he felt there was something very familiar about his features…

Whether the images had been some kind of premonition of the future, though Merlin had never before had a vision without the aid of crystals, or had just been the result of the warlock's sleep deprived mind, Merlin couldn't fathom. For now, he tried desperately to concentrate enough to answer Leon's question.

"I'm… fine. Alright. I'm alright" he stuttered, looking into Leon's face and trying to reassure the knight. "Really, its nothing. Just a headache – been in here too long. I'm fine." He tried to grin at the knight, to prove his point, but it turned into a kind of grimace instead.

Understandably, Leon failed to look convinced. "I think we need to get you back to Gaius" he stated firmly, hooking his arms beneath Merlin's shoulders and dragging him to his feet – only for the young man to sway alarmingly, grabbing at Leon and the wall for support.

"Steady there!" Leon gave Merlin another concerned look, clearly evaluating his chances of getting Merlin through the castle in the state he was in. "Do you think you can walk? Or should I send for aid?"

"I just… need a minute" Holding tightly to both the wall and the knight, Merlin steadied himself while the spots faded from his vision. Allowing Sir Leon to guide him back to the desk, he sank gratefully into the chair while the knight fetched him another drink of water. "Please don't send for Gaius, I wouldn't want to have to wake him for this. The headache's fading already."

"Fine. Ten minutes. But if you're still not well enough after that time, I'm fetching the physician." Merlin nodded, closing his eyes. What he had said was true – now that the sharp pain had passed, the headache had almost disappeared and the buzzing noise had stopped. The pressure was easing in his forehead, and now Merlin just felt drained, as if he had spent the day running around after Arthur rather than just sitting in a small chamber reading reports.

Through his exhaustion, he was dimly aware of Sir Leon rummaging around on the floor, picking up all the documents that he had dropped there in his rush to help Merlin.

Trying to let his mind go blank for a couple of minutes, he attempted to ignore all the questions forcing themselves into his mind about the vision – he wasn't prepared to deal with what had just happened yet, not until he could talk it over with Gaius in the morning. Whatever it had been hadn't felt particularly like a warning, there was no sense of immediate danger attached (although the image of the tower was still sending shivers down his back), but more like a presentation of facts – although how Arthur could possibly end up in the Crystal Cave was a mystery to him. Merlin had no idea what it could mean, if it did indeed mean anything at all.

When the unanswerable questions continued to flood through his head, Merlin changed tack, forcing his mind to instead dwell on the business of the day. It had mostly consisted of the usual updates from various craftsmen about the state of the repairs to the city and requests for more money for materials, as well as a number of patrol reports from the knights and weapons itineraries that he needed to sign off. A series of complaints related to the ongoing dispute between two prominent nobles of the court he had put aside for Arthur to deal with, as well as a notice about the recent capture of a thief from the lower town. The rest of the day had been spent reading through the documents relevant to the treaty negotiations between Camelot and Powys.

When he had first started working his way through the extensive collection of parchment left to him by the King of Camelot, he had expected to be thoroughly bored by the end of the first day. Arthur had made no secret of his distaste for the quantity of paperwork he was asked to work through as King, and if the backlogged state of the documents Merlin had inherited was anything to go by, he hadn't exactly been diligent at keeping up with it. Merlin had walked into Arthur's new study on that first day, down the corridor from the living chambers Arthur now shared with his wife, to find himself faced with disorganised piles of parchment haphazardly coating the desk and, in some cases, spilling on to the floor. He had stared at the scene with a mix of horror and despair, before getting to work with a grim determination born of many years of undertaking unpleasant tasks for the arrogant prince.

It had come as something of a surprise, therefore, when he had found himself enjoying the challenge presented to him by the King. Having shadowed Arthur at pretty much every formal event for the past six years, and attended him at so many council meetings, he had unitentionally become very well grounded in affairs of state. Added to that a keen intelligence, and a manipulative streak born of a lifetime of hiding his secret, he had found himself more than capable of handling the diplomacy required by the documents. With the aid of Gaius, Sir Leon, and even Guinevere, he had come to relish the opportunity to make decisions, even minor ones, in the name of the King.

He did understand why Arthur hated the job so much though – he was a fighter, a man of action, and although he cared deeply for his people he didn't have the patience required to sit at a table all day debating every single decision with stuffy old men, and signing pieces of paper. Merlin thought about that for a moment, before deciding to have a word with the King about delegation when he got back – there was no reason why he had to handle everything himself, when there was a legion of scribes and minor nobles in Camelot who could easily deal with a large portion of it.

"Merlin, what's this?" Merlin's mind was snapped back the present by Leon's question, the knight standing up and frowning in confusion at a piece of parchment he had retrieved from the floor. At Merlin's questioning glance, he placed it on the desk before him.

"That?" Merlin looked at the paper, trying to remember where it had come from through his increasingly sleep-fogged mind. "Oh, that. Geoffrey lent it to me; it's about the history of Powys. I'm trying to understand as much as I can for the negotiations with Vortigern." He closed his eyes again, sinking further in to the chair.

"Merlin… it's in Welsh" The knight was looking at the young man in the chair, as if he was desperately trying to understand something.

"Yep" he yawned.

"You can read this?" He stared at the servant as he nodded "How?"

"Mother taught me, said it might be useful one day. I think my grandparents were Welsh. Is it important?" Cracking his eye open, he stared at the bewildered knight.

"No, its just… Does Arthur know?" The look on Sir Leon's face was a strange mixture of surprise and evaluation, as he looked more closely at the inconspicuous servant behind the desk.

"Why would he? He never asked." Merlin was starting to feel vaguely uncomfortable under Sir Leon's regard, and shifted slightly on his seat. "I think I'm ready to head back to Gaius' chambers now" he announced, forcing himself back to his feet and swaying slightly where he stood – before attempting to stagger his way across the room.

Sir Leon immediately caught up with him, hooking one arm under his shoulders as he helped him navigate his way back through the castle. "You're full of surprises, Merlin" was the last he said to him before he left for the night.

Merlin's sleep that night was laced with all sorts of strange dreams. He saw Arthur fighting his way through a crowd of angry peasants while dressed as a Camelot guard. Meanwhile, an auburn haired man raced through a forest on a black steed, closely followed by a horde of men dressed in animal furs. And through it all, the vision of a tower collapsing repeated itself while two armies clashed on a field and dragons soared in the sky above.

By morning, all these dreams had been forgotten.

**A/N: Sorry this took me so long to upload - I know I told a few people I would have it up by last weekend, which clearly didn't happen... My only excuse is that it turns out there is a lot more involved in finishing a degree than I had anticipated, so free time took a long time to happen :S**

**This is kind of a filler-y chapter, but its important for what happens later, so bear with me! Arthur will be back in the next one, I promise.  
**

**Thanks for everyone who reviewed/favourited/alerted - it really means a lot, and I hope this chapter lives up to expectations. The next one really will be up sooner! **

**Also, special thanks to lozzabluebell for creative input in the story, this chapter is dedicated to you ;)  
**


	4. Cadal

**Chapter 4 – Cadal**

The afternoon sun had started worming its way through the clouds by the time Arthur made it out of the forest and onto the road to Camelot.

The morning had been a long and arduous one. In the time it took for Arthur to make his way out of the Valley of the Fallen Kings, any enthusiasm he had initially felt about Taliesin's challenge had been thoroughly extinguished. He had left the cave early in the morning, only to discover that the rain that had been threatening in his home world the previous day had also fallen here overnight – leaving dripping leaves, sodden undergrowth and excessive quantities of mud in its wake. Within a few hours of forcing his way through the overgrown vegetation, Arthur's new peasant clothes had soaked through to his skin, and he was coated in mud up to his waist. He was cold, he was tired and, worst of all, he was _hungry_.

Arthur had stumbled out of the cave that morning with only the faintest idea of where he was expected to go, and carrying little more than his sword, some money, and the clothes on his back. Despite the amount of care Taliesin had taken setting Arthur upon this unusual path, the old seer had been strangely silent on what he expected the King to achieve once he arrived in the other world. Although he had stressed the fact that Arthur would be 'tested' on this journey, he had been remarkably silent on the actual nature of the tests in store – only that, once Arthur overcame them, he could travel back to the Crystal Cave and return home.

The memory of his final conversation with Taliesin still resounded in his mind, the meanings as obscure now in the light of the new day as they had been the previous evening in the cave.

* * *

"Look!" Arthur had shouted, for the fifth of sixth time, "You say that I won't be allowed to return home until I've passed your test, yet you don't explain what you expect me to do! If I don't know exactly what this 'test' of yours entails, how can I possibly know when, or even if, I've passed it? Do you expect me to remain in this world forever?"

"When the time comes, you will know" was Taliesin's infuriatingly enigmatic answer.

At this point, Arthur's already strained temper had once again come to the boil, leading him to pace the cave furiously with Taliesin watching patiently. Tristan, who by this time had made himself comfortable in a corner of the cave, sitting down on a rock with his back against a crystal-free patch on the wall, hadn't even glanced up from where he was polishing his sword. After the first few outbursts from the King he had removed himself from the conversation, waiting patiently and almost forgotten until he was needed again.

The argument between the two men, one young and passionate and the other filled with a patience born of age, had stretched out for several hours. The same topics had been debated and discussed repeatedly, with the young King determined to coerce as much information as possible from the wizened old seer – who, in turn, had stubbornly refused to impart any knowledge beyond what he deemed essential for the quest to succeed.

"And these clothes! They stink – and I'm sure there are lice in here" pulling at the neck of the peasant's tunic he wore, Arthur had once again protested at the disguise that Taliesin had decided was necessary. "I really don't see why I have to pretend to be a peasant – could I really not be a knight, or a noble, or something? I'm sure I could pull it off better." The fine chain mail that the rough garb replaced lay on the floor beside Tristan, and Arthur hadn't been able to help looking at it longingly as he adjusted his worn woollen cloak.

"You would attract too much attention. As a peasant you are invisible, you can pass unnoticed, see what you otherwise would not – you will need that, for this quest. And remember-"

"I know, I know," Arthur's interruption was tired, the reminder having been drilled into him endlessly over the past hours "No-one can know who I am. So you keep telling me."

"You underestimate the danger, young King" Arthur had glared at Taliesin's stern reminder, but chose to remain silent as the seer explained himself once again. "In this world, Arthur Pendragon never existed – the son of Uther was never born. Should anyone discover who you truly are, the consequences would be severe – the potential danger is greater than you realise. If news of your existence were to reach the wrong ears… at best, you would be considered mad, at worst you could be tried for treason. And, if someone were to actually believe the truth of your identity – well, the political ramifications would be beyond anyone's control."

"If its really that dangerous…" Tristan's interruption had taken the two men by surprise, his presence up until that moment forgotten. "If it is truly as dangerous as you say – then why send him? This test is of your making, you can stop it anytime you want."

"Because, Sir Knight, Arthur needs to do this – it is imperative that he accept the truths he will learn in this world. And, truth be told, he is needed in the other world too." Taliesin had stared into Arthur's eyes at this point, as if it was of vital importance that Arthur understand the next sentence. "Arthur's presence in this world is essential, lest land fall into darkness."

The silence following that pronouncement had been the longest yet, as the knights struggled to grasp the meaning behind Taliesin's words. In the end, it was Tristan who broke it.

"Very well, but I still don't understand why I can't accompany him. I took an oath to protect the King, and I mean to keep it. I can't stay in this cave and let him face danger on his own."

Truth be told, Arthur had been taken by surprise by this sudden display of loyalty from the cynical knight. In the past, Tristan had made his disdain for some of the King's decisions known – he had made no secret of his lack of respect for royalty, particularly those of the Pendragon line. When the recently bereaved smuggler had approached Arthur some time after the most recent battle for the kingdom, and made his request to join the ranks of Camelot's knights, Arthur had been only to happy to grant it – after all, the man had proven himself a more than capable fighter, and after the aid he had bestowed when the kingdom was most in need, it was only right that the man be rewarded. He had been bemused by the request, but more than willing to grant it.

But, to be faced with undeniable proof of the newest knight's loyalty here in the Crystal Cave was still something of a shock.

"Isolde was willing to die for you" came Tristan's quiet reply at Arthur's questioning look. "In memory of my beloved, I cannot do any less."

"Your loyalty is admirable, Sir Knight" The seer had sounded sad, but had remained resolute in his original decision. "I am sorry that you cannot accompany your King, but I regret that it is just not possible – only Arthur can pass into this other world. But fear not, there is still work for you in this world. You will be needed, in Arthur's absence."

* * *

The rumble of his stomach drew Arthur back to the present. He had scavenged a few berries to eat while travelling, but he had no provisions of his own and was no longer carrying the equipment he would need to hunt – his crossbow had to be left in the cave, along with the rest of his possessions, to be kept until his return. With more time and patience he could have set up a few traps and caught a couple of rabbits, but he admitted to himself that he was a little inexperienced in that form of hunting. While peasants relied upon traps to catch their meat, as a noble he had always preferred the thrill of the chase – going after larger animals such as deer and boar. With only his sword, and a simple knife that had been thrust into his belt, he had little chance of successfully catching his own food.

Arthur's sword. That had been the one concession that Arthur had managed to wring from the seer – despite the objections, he had managed to convince Taliesin to let him keep it. The ancient sorcerer had protested that Excalibur was far too extravagant to belong to a peasant, and that any type of ostentation was only likely to draw unwanted attention – but at this point Arthur had very firmly drawn the line. Ever since that miraculous moment when he had drawn the precious sword from the stone, proving once and for all that he did have what it took to be a great King of Camelot, he had refused to be parted from the blade. From the first time he had truly held Excalibur, he had known without a doubt that the sword was _his_, meant for no other, and there was no way he was leaving such a gift behind in a cave – especially with an untrustworthy magic user.

Taliesin had eventually given in, but not before giving Arthur some cryptic advice.

"Beware, young King, of losing that sword: it was forged for you, and you alone. No other hand must be allowed to wield it, for none other has the right and only evil would come of it. Take it, if you must, but beware of the power you could unleash into that world if you are careless." Then he had wrapped the hilt of the sword in a piece of cloth "There, I have done all I can to conceal the blade. The rest is up to you"

Arthur wasn't entirely certain how exactly a single piece of cloth was supposed to hide Excalibur from curious eyes – but if it meant he actually got to keep hold of the sword, he wasn't going to argue.

And so Arthur had set off on his new journey, travelling in the direction of Camelot purely because he had no idea where else to go. With no indication given by Taliesin of which direction to travel, he had simply chosen to go home – or as close to home as this new world could provide. He had reasoned that the citadel was the centre of the kingdom, so if he was to learn any of the 'truths' that Taliesin kept talking about then that was the best place to start. And, at the very least, the city would offer shelter and food – something he was already much in need of.

Now, standing on the edge of the road to Camelot, Arthur was painfully aware that the citadel was still a good day's journey away on foot, and there was little chance of finding food before then. However, with no other option open to him, the king-turned-peasant stepped out onto the road, turned resolutely northwards, and started walking briskly along the muddy track.

If he was lucky, he would find some food along the way.

* * *

As evening started drawing in, Arthur began to feel somewhat uneasy. He had been following the road now for several hours, and had yet to see another living soul upon it. As a knight of Camelot he had patrolled this area for many years, and usually during this season the roads would be well used – farmers taking the fruits of their harvest to the market at Camelot, other travelling merchants with wares to trade and sell, even members of the nobility making their way to the city to visit family members before winter set in, would all be seen upon the roads. To have been walking along the road for nearly five hours and to still have seen no-one was disconcerting.

On top of that, Arthur had spent the last hour with the uncomfortable feeling that he was being followed. He could feel a prickling sensation between his shoulder blades, as if he was being watched by a pair of hidden eyes, and he kept spotting movement in the periphery of his vision. He had taken to spinning on the spot, staring into the greenery by the side of the road, certain that he had just seen a figure out of the corner of his eyes – only to find that the forest was empty. The constant rustling of leaves by the side of the road was putting him on edge, and he now walked with his sword constantly unsheathed.

Arthur kept cursing his fear. He was a knight of Camelot, for goodness sake, and he had spent half his life patrolling these woods – he shouldn't be twitching at every gust of wind through the trees, every scuttle of a forest creature in the undergrowth!

Then again, this wasn't his world, these weren't his woods. Who knew what dangers lurked in these forests, ready to catch out the unprepared traveller…

There! He was certain he saw something this time – movement behind a tree to the left of the road. There was someone hidden in the gloom of the forest, he was certain of it. Someone was following him, and he was determined to deal with them.

Approaching the edge of the road, Arthur levelled his sword towards the trees.

"Come out! I know you're there – state your business!" standing straight, he laced his words with all the authority of a king. Focusing on the shadows behind the foliage, his eyes strained to pick out the shape of his stalker. "Show yourself!"

"Good evening" the silky voice in Arthur's ear was quickly followed by a hand to his throat and the sharp point of a knife in the small of his back, causing the young man to freeze. "Not bad, but next time try to look in the right direction. Drop your sword, you're outnumbered" the owner of the voice breathed into Arthur's ear, his foul breath and unwashed stench causing the kings' nose to wrinkle.

Mind racing, Arthur remained calm. He was a trained knight of Camelot, prepared for situations such as these – now that the threat had finally presented itself, he could analyse it and deal with it.

"Who are you? What do you want?" He asked, while making a show of dropping his weapon to the ground.

"Us? Why, we are poor hungry travellers, fallen on hard times. We were hoping a kind fellow traveller such as yourself might be able to help us… Hand over your money, and we'll let you go free" the voice whispered in his ear, a veneer of false friendliness overlaying his words.

Other figures started appearing in Arthur's line of vision, materializing from the shadows at the edge of the forest. He could see now what kind of men he faced: brigands and highwaymen, waiting to ambush anyone foolish enough to travel alone. The men he could see were rough and unshaven, a rag-tag group dressed in filthy clothes, with only a small and rusty collection of weapons between them. They looked gaunt and hungry, with a desperate look in their eyes – a desperation that was probably what had led them to attack a seemingly lowly peasant, one who probably wouldn't have much to offer them.

In Arthur's world, men such as these would not be wandering around the forests near Camelot. Arthur's knights had always patrolled these woods, dealing with thugs and bandits promptly and efficiently – Arthur had always considered it a matter of pride that his knights were able to ensure the safety of the peasants who lived in the outlying regions, and had made it a priority to protect the travellers who used the road to Camelot. On top of that, the land had been prosperous enough in recent times that most of peasants in the outlying villages had enough food to survive, and fewer had been drawn to a life of crime: for these men to be wandering the woods so close to the capital did not bode well for the state of the country.

"Well? What are you waiting for – hand it over" came the voice in his ear once again.

Slowly, Arthur reached down to the money pouch at his belt, carefully surveying the other men in the group out of the corners of his eyes – and once his hand reached his waist he took action, elbowing the man behind him sharply in the stomach.

As his assailant gasped for air and released his hold, Arthur dove to the floor and grabbed his sword. Swinging round, he faced the men now rushing at him with their pitiful weapons – disarming one with a twist of his sword before despatching another with the hilt. Rushing another two men, he soon had them lying sprawling at his feet – alive and groaning, but no longer a threat.

Arthur readjusted his weapon, and turned to face the last few men – only to find them already comatose on the floor, while an enormous man stood over them wielding a sword.

Coming warily to a halt, Arthur surveyed his unexpected helper. The man before him was extremely tall, easily taller than Arthur himself – he suspected that even Sir Percival would be no match for this man's great height. Unlike his muscular knight, though, this man was skinny: not in the skin and bones way of Merlin, but wiry instead – like he had a lot of muscle hidden very compactly under his skin. The most distinguishable feature about the man, however, was the shock of auburn hair upon his head – it hung down around his ears, and covered his face in a small moustache. And, despite the fact that Arthur was certain that he had never met this man before in his life, there was something strangely familiar about his features – as if he had seen them before on someone else, though he couldn't quite place who.

The stranger looked up then, suddenly fixing Arthur with a pair of inscrutable green eyes – and then smiled, lowering his sword and extending a hand. Once again, Arthur was struck with a chord of familiarity – he was sure he had seen that smile before somewhere.

"Looked like you could use some help – name's Cadal"

The stranger's voice had a musical lilt to it, an accent that Arthur immediately placed as being Welsh. He had met Welshmen before, when a delegation from King Vortigern had briefly visited his father's court many years ago, but it was very unusual to meet one in Camelot.

Well, in his Camelot, anyway. Who knew what the situation was like here.

Appraising the stranger, Cadal, Arthur raised his own hand and shook the one he had been offered.

"Arthur. Thankyou, for the help. I appreciate it."

Cadal grinned even wider, returning Arthur's appraising glance. There was a sharp intelligence in the man's eyes, and a spark of humour that suggested a sense of amusement about the situation.

"No problem, my friend – it is unwise to travel these roads alone, I felt it only my duty to aid you. I see you have very few provisions – I take it you travel to Camelot?"

Arthur nodded silently, loath to speak until he knew more about the man before him. Although the Welshman seemed friendly enough, he remained suspicious of the man's motives – he was aware that he was very much a stranger in this world, despite its similarities to the Camelot he had left behind, and he didn't want anyone taking advantage of his lack of knowledge about the situation he had landed himself in.

At Arthur's refusal to speak, the swordsman's broad smile only faltered slightly. Ignoring Arthur's apparent unfriendliness, he continued speaking. "I too travel to that fair city. We are both without company on this road, might it not be wise to continue together? I assure you, I have no intention of attacking you on the way – on my honour" the foreigner made a strange bowing movement to Arthur as he said this "I merely mean that I have food I am willing to share, and company would be welcome on this lonely road."

Despite his suspicions, Arthur found himself warming to the idea. He had been walking alone for most of the day now, and Cadal seemed, on the surface at least, to be a good man. They would likely be travelling in the same direction anyway, and if the redhead did have intentions of harming him it would be safe to keep him where Arthur could keep an eye on him, rather than worry about whether he was being followed through the undergrowth.

Besides, it might be a good way to learn about this new world before he arrived in Camelot.

"Very well, I would value the company. It was lucky you arrived in time just now, if we travel together we have less chance of being ambushed again…"

To Arthur's surprise, Cadal suddenly threw his head back and started laughing – grabbing a bag from behind a bush, he threw it over his shoulder and started walking backwards down the road ahead of the king.

"Luck? That was no luck – I've been following you for the better part of the day!"

Still chortling at Arthur's dumbfounded expression, he spun on his heel and carried on walking – the startled royal shaking his head before sheathing his sword and following. It was going to be an interesting journey.

**A/N: Finally! I can only apologise for taking so long to write this. My only excuse is a combination of writers block, busy life getting in the way, and going on holiday... Anyway, I would like to thank everyone who reviewed the last chapter - I'm very sorry I didn't reply to them all this time, but the comments really do help motivate me to write, and your interest in the story means a lot to me! Also to everyone who favourited/alerted etc - thankyou!**

**Special thanks should probably go to Jane Mays for her little nudge - this chapter probably wouldn't be up yet without it...  
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**Anyway, I'm going to force myself to stick to an updating schedule with this. I've got a lot of story to tell, and I know where I'm going with it - if I haven't updated again within a week, feel free to attack me with metaphorical pitchforks!  
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**(Also - never written an action scene before... was it ok?)  
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	5. Arrival

**Chapter 5 – Arrival**

Sitting round the campfire later that evening, Arthur once again studied the man before him. The last few hours of the day's journey had been completed in silence, both men lost in their own thoughts as they followed the road towards Camelot. It was only once evening had set in, and the travellers had set about finding a suitable place to spend the night, that conversation had started up once again – and then only on practical matters, such as the location of a campsite and the collection of firewood.

Now, after a welcome meal of roast rabbit, as Arthur found himself seated across the fire from the mysterious Cadal he was taking the opportunity to observe him more closely. The man was younger than Arthur had initially estimated, no more than a year or two older at most than Arthur himself, but there was a confidence and surety to his posture and a wisdom in his eyes that suggested a man older than his years.

The Welshman was leaning against a tree, his eyes closed and his whole figure seemingly relaxed, but a skilled warrior like Arthur could see the signs of wariness that the man was trying to conceal – a certain tenseness to the shoulders, a hand that rested inconspicuously beside the hilt of his sword, and a tell-tale flicker behind his eyelids. Whether it was Arthur's presence that was making him nervous, or simply the possible presence of bandits and thieves in the surrounding woodland, Arthur wasn't sure – but it was certainly interesting to note that the outwardly composed stranger wasn't quite as confident as he appeared.

As if he realised he was being watched, Cadal's green eyes shot open to return Arthur's stare. Suddenly uncomfortable, the younger man returned his gaze to the remaining embers of the campfire as the redhead shifted against the roots of the tree he sat below, turning so that the two men faced each other more clearly across the dying flames.

"So", came Cadal's voice from across the clearing, "What I want to know is – what is a nobleman dressed as a peasant doing walking alone on the road to Camelot?"

The question caught Arthur by surprise – his eyes once more snapped to meet the speculative ones of the Welshman, while his mind scrabbled to find a suitable response to the query.

"What? Um, I… I mean – what are you talking about? I-"

A soft chuckle cut off Arthur's slightly panicked babbling. "Very well, I don't need to know. All men have their secrets; rest assured I won't ruin yours."

"How… how did you know?" Arthur gave up his pretence, his curiosity overcoming his caution – he didn't entirely trust Cadal with the knowledge he had surmised, but it seemed that it was already a lost cause.

"I merely observed – though do not worry, most people would not see it. You walk like a noble, you talk like one – you carry an authority with you, as if you expect to be obeyed. A peasant would have more… humility in their bearing. And the way you handle that sword – you did not learn to fight like that in some simple farm village, you were properly taught. A peasant could not afford that type of training."

Arthur nodded slightly, although he did not agree entirely with Cadal's reasoning – after all, he had seen the way men like Elyan and Lancelot fought with swords, and from what he could gather they had both been entirely self-taught. And as for the 'humility' of peasants – well, he had suffered enough snarky comments from Merlin over the years to know that _that_ wasn't true…

Although, thinking about it, he could see what Cadal meant about the air of authority he carried. Raised as a prince, he had always been able to give a command and expect it to be obeyed – only his father had the ability to over-rule his orders. He hadn't realised how much of that sense of power he carried in his bearing, but perhaps it might be for the best if he took account of Cadal's observation and tried to act a little less sure of himself from now on.

And, as far as 'carrying authority' went…

"Perhaps. But the same could be said of you." And it was true, thinking about it. Despite the nondescript clothes he wore, the Welshman also had a certain commanding presence about him, as if he too was used to having his demands obeyed. It seemed that Arthur was not the only man travelling to Camelot undercover.

This earned yet another grin from the stranger, although this time it was accompanied by a more calculating glint in his green eyes. "Ah, so we are even then. I take it you wish your true identity, whatever that may be, to remain a secret once you reach the city?"

"I do. And the same goes for you?" Arthur suddenly felt a lot more confident about the encounter – the negotiation of terms between two partners was something that, as King, he had quickly become familiar with. Both men wanted something, and both men held information (albeit slight) on the other that neither party wanted broadcast. A deal could be made here.

"Then we are in understanding. But perhaps we could be of more help to each other – I could use a friend in the city, and I suspect you too will be somewhat alone in Camelot. What say you?"

"I mean no harm to the people of Camelot." Arthur answered quickly. The idea Cadal offered was tantalizing, the possibility of having some help once he reached the citadel was alluring, but he didn't trust the Welshman. He knew nothing of him, besides the fact that he held a position of power of some sort, and he had no inkling of what the man intended once he arrived in Camelot. The realm might not belong to him in this reality, but he still felt a responsibility to the people of this kingdom. After all, they were still his people – in a way.

"Neither do I, I assure you" Cadal chuckled again, his eyes regaining their previous humour. "I am here on a personal quest, one that has no bearing on the future of this kingdom." His gaze sharpened once again, the green eyes boring into Arthur's as he seemed to consider something. "Perhaps… perhaps I will tell you something of my quest, as a gesture of good will. I seek someone in Camelot, a man I have been hunting now for many years – I had almost given up hope of ever finding him, until I received word some months ago that a man matching his description had been spotted in this kingdom. I have left my father's court on the slim chance that the reports were correct – I hope they are, for otherwise I fear that I have lost him forever."

"Who is this man?" there was a sadness in Cadal's voice as he talked, one that suggested to Arthur that the man the foreigner searched for was important to him. He couldn't help but feel a sorrowful twinge of his own – it had only been a week since he was last home, but already he couldn't help but miss the people he had left behind. An image of Guinevere crossed his mind, which he quickly chose to bury – who knew how long he would be trapped in this place? It wouldn't do to dwell too much on his longing for his wife; instead he should concentrate, and hope to complete his mysterious quest as soon as he could.

"My cousin" replied Cadal softly, a faraway look in his eye. "We grew up together, he is perhaps the closest thing I have to a brother – but he disappeared some years ago. Something happened to him, something that led him to turn his back on the people who loved him and run away. When I find him, I intend to find out what – and then drag him back to Ynys Môn, where he belongs."

The last was said so quietly that Arthur almost didn't hear, Cadal seeming to have forgotten in his musing that he was sharing the clearing with another man. There was silence following that sentence, as both men seemed to realise that something had been spoken that was supposed to remain a secret – that, lost in his thoughts, the Welshman had let something slip past his guard. The sincerity of the man's words was obvious, and Arthur chose to take what he said for now as the truth, but as he attempted to digest what he had just learnt his mind fixated on the name that Cadal had unintentionally dropped.

Ynys Môn. Arthur knew of it, of course – the men of that distant island had a fearsome reputation, one that had managed to reach all the way south to Camelot. All that remained of the once large kingdom of Gwynedd, the men of that great realm had been pushed right back to their stronghold on the island during Vortigern's conquest of Wales some twenty years ago – part of an ongoing war that had started a few years before Arthur was born. While the other Welsh kingdoms, including the powerful southern kingdom of Dyfed, had all crumbled under the ambitious Welsh king's ferocious onslaught, Gwynedd alone had managed to hold firm for many years. Even now, they continued their fight against the king of Powys – and rumours were that they were not afraid to resort to magic to achieve their aims.

King Uther had naturally been wary of such a kingdom with access to magic. Perhaps that was why he had thrown his weight, and the weight of Camelot's elite army, behind Vortigern shortly after the Great Purge – and it was those forces that had finally turned the tide of the battle all those years ago, making Vortigern the self-styled 'High King' of Wales. Camelot and Vortigern had since maintained a somewhat uneasy alliance, one that Arthur had set about attempting to strengthen during his reign.

To meet a man from Ynys Môn, an island that held no friendship with Arthur's people, in Camelot… that was something Arthur had never expected.

"So, what do you expect to do once we reach Camelot?" Cadal's sudden question sounded awkward, as if he was desperate to break the silence that had fallen after his outburst. He seemed to be aware that he might have revealed a little more than he intended to, and was trying to change the subject.

Arthur himself wasn't entirely sure how to answer the question. Although Cadal's story had sounded honest enough, Arthur wasn't certain whether or not he should reply in kind – after all, the man was, technically, from enemy territory. And even if he did choose to be truthful, what could he really say? Even he had no idea what he was expected to be doing in this world.

He opted for the only response he could give.

"For now? Nothing much, just observe, I suppose. Maybe… find work? Something." Find work? Maybe that would be a good idea, now that he had said it – after all, from the looks of things he would be staying in this world for some time. He would need food and shelter while he was here, and he did only have so much money. Perhaps employment would be a good idea…

"A nobleman, pretending to be a peasant, looking for work in Camelot?" The amusement in Cadal's voice wasn't even subtle this time. The man had a wide grin on his face, and laughter danced in his eyes. "That would be something to see! What work do you intend to find? Innkeeping? Manual labour? Blacksmithing? Or, maybe, you might do well as a servant?" Although there was a joking tone to his voice, Cadal's words didn't seem especially mocking – just cynical.

"Ah…" that was true, what kind of work would be available to him in the city? It wasn't as if he had many practical skills, besides of course fighting and ruling a kingdom… and it wasn't as if that second skill would be of much use to him if he was hiding as a peasant.

"So? What can you do?" Cadal pressed, his eyebrows quirking in an oddly familiar way. When Arthur continued to struggle speechlessly to find an answer to his question, however, the larger man seemed to take some pity on him. "It seems to me that you're very handy with that sword. You know how to fight. Perhaps you should think about that?"

* * *

Riding into Camelot the following morning was a surreal experience for Arthur. When they crested the hill above Camelot shortly after mid-morning, the young king was initially struck with an overwhelming sense of familiarity and homecoming – the castle in the valley below him looked so identical to the one he had left behind when he went on patrol a week ago, that he was for a moment convinced that it was his own city he was looking down on. He had subconsciously found himself speeding up, leaving Cadal behind and almost jogging down towards the citadel, expecting to find that the Crystal Cave experience had all been some sort kind of cruel joke on the part of Taliesin. He could almost see himself arriving home to find Guinevere waiting for him in their chambers, unaware that he had ever been missing.

Even later he would remain unable to explain what it was that slowed him down. As the somewhat startled Welshman caught up to him, Arthur tried to work out what it was about the sight before him that made the hope die in his chest. An instinct, some small voice at the back of his mind – something about the city down in the valley was different, foreign. From this distance he couldn't quite put his finger on what was different about this Camelot, but there was a sense of unfamiliarity about the castle before him.

It was strange, looking at a place he had known all his life, and not recognising it.

"Arthur?" came Cadal's questioning voice from behind. "What is it?"

Arthur found that he had no reply. He just shook his head sadly to the redheaded man's question, and continued walking forwards at a more sedate pace.

As the two men slowly approached the city, Arthur's sense of discomfort grew. Now that the outer walls of the town were nearing, the differences between this Camelot and his own were starting to leap out at him more clearly. To another eye, the contrasts between the two cities might not have been quite so apparent – but Arthur was the King. All his life he had lived in the city, and all his life he had known that one day it would be his duty to protect it. From a young age he had patrolled the city streets with his father's knights, walked among its people, studied its defences – and grown to love it above anything else. His life and soul had always belonged to this kingdom, and as a result he had come to know the city better than any other man alive – even Uther had never understood the city as well as his only son, choosing to focus his attention on the citadel itself and imparting less importance to the surrounding town.

Yes, to Arthur's eye the differences were clear to see.

The walls of the city before them, growing closer with every step along the winding road to the gates, gave an initial impression of great wealth and security. They were in excellent repair; the stonework strong and undamaged, their stone unscarred by siege or battle. The battlements of Arthur's own city hadn't been so lucky over recent years, the many battles and invasions taking their toll upon the fortifications of the castle – Camelot had been under attack so many times over the past seasons that it often seemed as if the defences were in a constant state of repair. Even as Arthur left his city a week ago, one section of the outer wall had been covered in scaffolding as the local stonemasons set about remedying the damage caused by Morgana's last attempt at usurpation. The strong, undamaged walls of this city told a different story to the patched but still effective walls of Arthur's castle: here was a city prospering from a long period of peace and wealth, one that the citizens of Arthur's Camelot had not enjoyed.

At the gates that marked the entrance to the lower town, a small queue of peasants had formed – a disorganized, meandering line that made its way slowly into the beautiful city. Although Arthur and Cadal had passed the first other traffic they had seen on the road to Camelot that morning, a small caravan of cautious merchants who had given them a wide berth, Arthur was still taken aback by the state of the people in the queue. It appeared to consist entirely of peasants, carrying few belongings as if they had only travelled a short distance or simply had very little to their name, and all seemed hungrier and wearier than the peasants Arthur was accustomed to seeing in his kingdom. There were very few of them in the queue, eight or so in total, and they stuck to their respective groups – they spared Arthur and Cadal guarded glances as they joined the line before returning their attentions to their companions and advancing slowly into the city.

The slow movement of the line, despite the relatively small number of people and the obvious openness of the city gates, was explained when Arthur caught sight of the guards at the entrance. Although it was the middle of the day, the guards appeared to be on alert, scanning the faces and belongings of the pitiful group making their way into the town – Arthur found himself somewhat taken aback by the dedication shown by these guards to the security of the city, a contrast to the more laid-back attitude usually displayed by his own guardsmen. Although these men didn't seem to be hindering the progress of anyone passing through the gates, they were displaying a discipline and watchfulness that Arthur was unaccustomed to seeing in Camelot's guards – and the number of guardsmen evident beyond the wall only added to the heightened sense of vigilance displayed at the gates.

Arthur was granted a suspicious glare from a guard as he passed, the man's eyes roving over the sword at his hip against the low quality of his clothing. However, he was mostly ignored by the men at the gate in favour of his companion: as a seven-foot tall redhead Cadal was receiving a lot of curious attention, not just from the guardsmen. Thankfully, they were able to make it into the city with nothing more than vigilant glares.

It was only once Cadal and Arthur had finally made it through the archway into the lower town that the extent of the differences between the two kingdoms became fully apparent.

"Arthur?" once again, Cadal's questioning voice broke through Arthur's thoughts. Without intending to, the blonde man had come to a halt in the middle of the street, his eyes taking in the scene before him: so similar to what he had left behind, and yet so very different. "Is there something wrong?"

"Its just… different" Arthur's voice was quiet. When he had seen the state of the walls, the evidence of the peace and prosperity of Camelot visible in the good repair of the stonework, he had expected the town within the walls to similarly reflect the good fortune of the kingdom. Sadly, what he could see now told a different tale, one that he had already begun to suspect during his journey to the city.

The first impression of the city within the walls was one of poverty. Not a crippling poverty, there were no signs of famine or disease – rather, everywhere Arthur looked there was evidence of hardship and a struggle to make ends meet. The buildings lining the street were more run down – here a window that had been boarded up to help preserve heat, there peeling paint on a carpenter's sign. The streets were dirtier, dust and mud packed into the cobbles and rubbish simply swept to the sides, in one place blocking the sewage channel and allowing the overflow to run unchecked for some yards down the street. And the people themselves, resigned and haggard, didn't look much like the contented citizens of his own Camelot. For a moment, Arthur was reminded of his visit to Ealdor: that had been his first true experience of poverty, one that had forever changed his attitude to the people of his kingdom. Never before had he witnessed this scale of impoverishment in the heart of the kingdom, and its presence here worried him.

"You've been here before then?" Cadal's question was soft, clearly full of curiosity about Arthur's strange mood. He to was looking at the scene before him, although without the concern that haunted Arthur's gaze, trying to locate whatever it was that had prompted his companion's sudden halt.

Arthur nodded briefly, his mind elsewhere, before suddenly realising that he should probably offer some kind of explanation for his behaviour. "It was a long time ago. Its… not quite as I remember it." Hoping that would serve as a good enough cover, he nodded up the street and pushed his melancholia to the back of his mind. "Lets head up that way – there's a tavern just after the market square. I think anyway – from what I remember…" Hurriedly, he started making his way along the road once again.

Seeming to accept Arthur's story, for now at least, Cadal trailed behind. As the two men made their way through the trickle of people using the road, they were suddenly disrupted in their journey by the sound of rapidly approaching hoof beats behind them – darting quickly to the side of the lane, they were swiftly overtaken by a troop of knights, their capes flying behind them as they cantered along the cobbled path towards the citadel. To Arthur's surprise, the men upon the horses didn't even acknowledge the people they passed, not even slowing down as the pedestrians in their path were forced to dodge to the side to avoid colliding with the riders – and the peasants themselves seemed to take the matter in stride, carrying on with their business as if the danger of being trampled underneath the hooves of a knight's stallion was an everyday event.

Watching the knights disappear behind the buildings at the next corner, Arthur peeled himself away from the wall and turned to Cadal. The Welshman was grimacing, staring down at his feet in horror – avoiding the knights, the foreigner had instead fallen foul of a small pile of rotten vegetables left to fester by the side of a door.

"My people speak of the wealth of Camelot" the man stated, stepping away from the wall and attempting to scrape the worst of the muck off on the cobbles, "It has the greatest army in all of Albion, the citadel itself is supposed to be impregnable. And yet, the knights ride by while around them the people live in these conditions? What kind of King ignores the suffering of his own people?"

Arthur didn't respond, his own mind following a similar trail of thought. The city itself was in good repair, the guards and knights clearly well trained and disciplined, and yet the people of the kingdom were living like this? It didn't make sense to Arthur either.

And, who was the King of this Camelot anyway?

Making their way further into the town, Arthur and Cadal finally made it to the market square. The bustle of people was busier here, as the inhabitants of Camelot conducted their daily business around the open area: merchants and farmers selling their wares, housewives carrying baskets of food away from the stalls, craftsmen seated at the stands showing selections of their products. The collection of stalls may have been scarcer than Arthur was used to, but other than that the scene before him was reassuringly similar to what he had left behind, with the cleaner cobbles and extra guardsmen giving the impression of greater wealth and security.

The sound of children's laughter made Arthur turn his head. There, to one side of the square, a small group of children sat around a man in a worn brown cloak. The man was apparently entertaining the children with some kind of puppet show, the story he was telling completely gripping his audience – even some of the adults nearby were being drawn in, their smiles evidence of their enjoyment of this harmless entertainment. Suddenly, something the man did caused his audience to gasp in surprise, before laughter and applause broke out among the watchers.

Smiling and drawing closer, Arthur navigated himself to get a clearer view of the puppets the man was controlling – only to freeze in shock, an icy sensation cascading down his back as his eyes widened and his hand clutched the hilt of his sword.

The man was conducting a puppet show all right, two beautifully crafted wooden dolls on the floor before him acting out the story he was telling – moving and dancing in time with his tale.

Except – there were no strings attached to those two marionettes.

They were being controlled by no more than a twitch of the man's fingers, and a golden glint in his eyes.

**A/N: So I hope that answers some of your questions about Cadal - its all you're getting for now! And yes, I've played with the history of Wales a little - don't expect any historical accuracy!**

**I had some difficulty with this chapter - I found Arthur's conflicted feelings about Camelot difficult to convey, I hope it came through. If anyone is confused by the apparent state of the city, just remember that it is a Camelot where Arthur was never prince...  
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**Thanks again for all the reviews/favourites/alerts! I hope you all continue to enjoy the story - more characters should turn up next week :)  
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	6. The Captain

**Chapter 6 - The Captain**

Fingers tight on the hilt of his sword, his breathing quick and unsteady, Arthur tried desperately to process the sight in front of him. He could feel anger building in his chest, mind overwhelmed by the sheer surprise and confusion he felt at the sight of magic being so brazenly used in the streets of Camelot – his first instinct to draw his weapon and rush at the sorcerer only dampened by the fact that there were children, _children_, between himself and the blatant magic-user performing unashamedly in front of his captive audience.

_Wait_, said a small, quiet voice at the back of his mind. _Wait. Think._

"The tale of Lludd and Llefelys! That's an old one" Cadal's voice did little to break through Arthur's racing thoughts. The Welshman was once again standing at Arthur's side, having calmly followed him to the edge of the growing crowd. Despite the situation his voice sounded calm, almost joyful – dismissive of the sight of sorcery within the city walls. "The bards at my father's court used to tell the story when I was a child, though it has been many years since I last… Arthur? My friend, what troubles you?"

Seeming to notice Arthur's preoccupation, but not yet fully grasping the scale of the situation, Cadal had turned to his companion with one of his near constant smiles – only for it to drop from his face as he finally saw the expression worn by the younger man.

Arthur, for his part, just couldn't comprehend the scene in front of him. There was a man, a sorcerer, practicing his magic in the marketplace, one of the busiest areas on the town, and nobody was panicking. There was no-one calling for the guards, running from the scene, hiding from the danger – none of the commotion that the young ruler had come to associate with sorcery in Camelot. No, instead people were just standing there calmly, almost happily, and watching the spectacle with interest. There was _laughter._ Some of them were even applauding!

And Cadal wanted to know _what was troubling him?_

"_Magic_" Arthur hissed between his teeth, his free hand gesturing wildly in the direction of the storyteller "That man… is using magic. Here. In Camelot. And people – people are just standing there!"

His confusion was boiling over, panic (not that he would ever admit it) rising through him as he gesticulated wildly. The unfamiliarity of the situation, everything he had experienced over the past few days, all the unanswered questions that had led him here – everything was coming to a head, his temper overcoming his better judgement. A couple of people nearby cast startled glances in his direction, their attention drawn from the story as Arthur's voice rose slightly, the anger in his tone evident. A few started to shuffle slightly, imperceptibly widening the gap between themselves and the two travellers, as if sensing that something unpleasant could be about to happen.

Cadal's eyebrows rose, incredulity on his face. "Magic? Hardly! A simple charm, that's all – any hedge wizard could accomplish it. Is that truly what bothers you?" He sounded amused.

There was a sorcerer using magic right in front of him, and yet instead of rushing for help he was laughing at Arthur?

How could these people, these citizens of Camelot, be so calm about what they were seeing? There were a few guards stationed around the marketplace, they must have a clear view of what was happening – surely they should be doing something to stop it? They didn't seem troubled at all.

Cadal's attitude could probably be explained, Arthur supposed – after all the man was from Ynis Môn, and his people were notoriously lax in their attitude to magic. But the attitude of the people of Camelot?

There was only one possible explanation. The sorcerer had enchanted them.

Before he knew what he was doing, Arthur had drawn his sword and was pushing through the crowd. He had no clear plan in mind, his only aim to reach the sorcerer and somehow force him to break his enchantment – at sword point if necessary. The route in front of him cleared quickly, people rushing to get out of the way as Arthur advanced wrathfully towards the storyteller, who seemed to have just realised his danger – eyes widening, the man raised a shaking hand before his face as his puppets tumbled forgotten to the floor. Raising his sword, Arthur picked up speed – only to be yanked backwards off his feet by a pair of extremely strong arms.

One elbow grasped forcefully and jerked behind his back, Arthur's assailant used his other hand to grasp the King's wrist – twisting it until the pain forced him to drop Excalibur. Taken by surprise by the suddenness of the attack, as well as the sheer physical strength possessed by his captor, Arthur was powerless to respond while both his arms were held firmly behind his back and his sword was picked up by one of the guards who had previously been lining the square.

"What the hell do you think you're doing?" Cadal's voice by his ear confirmed the identity of his captor, his firm grip not letting up while Arthur struggled futilely. More guards rushed to the scene from various corners of the square while the stricken storyteller was led away by a number of considerate citizens – all of whom sent murderous glares in Arthur's direction as they passed him on their way out of the marketplace.

"He was using magic – I had to stop him." Arthur growled in frustration as he continued trying to break out of Cadal's iron grasp – finally succeeding as the impact of his words caused the foreigner's grip to relax slightly.

"Stop him?" the Welshman's voice was bewildered, his face, when Arthur turned to see it, twisted in a mixture of fury and genuine bemusement. "Why? The man was telling a story, what harm was he doing anyone?"

The press of a spear into the small of Arthur's back diverted his attention from Cadal's question, turning it instead to the presence of a small group of Camelot guards who had circled the pair during their struggle. One of the guards had approached behind Arthur with his spear, in an attempt to prevent him from continuing his attack, while another two approached from either side – weapons drawn and a pair of iron manacles dangling from the grasp of the closest.

The voice at the back of his mind, the one that cautioned him to think the situation through before he acted (and sounded strangely like Merlin), was screaming at him to calm down. The sensible thing to do would be to surrender to the guards, act rationally, and maybe he would still be able to salvage something from the mess he was landing himself in.

Unfortunately, the rest of Arthur's brain was shouting louder. Tired, frustrated, and overwhelmed by all the experiences that had lead him to this moment, Arthur wasn't in the mood for rational thought.

_You're being attacked_. _Fight back._

Acting on instinct, his thoughts clouded and adrenaline rushing, his eyes fixed on the most visible threat – the redheaded Welshman who had prevented his advance on the sorcerer. Ignoring the now desperate voice that was telling him that perhaps turning on his only ally was not the wisest idea, he launched himself forward, away from the sharp point of the spear that still pierced his back, tackling the disconcerted foreigner round the waist and onto the ground.

Finding himself on the floor, underneath the level of the guards lowered spears; he rolled off Cadal while simultaneously levelling a kick towards the crotch of the nearest guard. Grabbing another by the legs, he was able to pull the man off his feet, tumbling him backwards into another guardsman behind.

Unfortunately, by this point the guards around him had caught on to his attack. A kick to his stomach had him gasping for air, while the sound of shouting and running feet alerted him to the approach of another guard patrol. He barely had time to register that Cadal was back on his feet before feeling a sharp blow to the back of the head.

The world went black.

* * *

Consciousness dawned slowly.

The heavy throbbing in Arthur's head was the first thing he was aware of, the pain blotting out his other thoughts for the moment. It seemed to be originating from a point towards the back of his skull, but had spread out to encompass his entire head – the sensation warning him that perhaps opening his eyes at this point might be a mistake. Lying there, he waited for the pain to dull slightly as he slowly attempted to piece together where he was.

He was lying on something hard, a piece of cloth bundled beneath the side of his head the only comfort on the otherwise solid surface; stone, he was lying on a stone floor. The cold radiating from the ground matched the temperature of the air, soaking through Arthur's clothes to his skin and causing him to shiver, wrapping his cloak more tightly round his body as he curled up slightly against the chill.

Slowly, more details began to filter through into his abused brain. Sounds came next – a steady drip of water somewhere behind him, a distant crackle of flames from a torch, a suspicious rustling somewhere nearby… And the smell, a rotten mixture of straw and urine and blood – a distinctive smell, one the young King was unfortunately familiar with.

He groaned. He had a feeling he knew where he was.

Cracking his eyes open slightly, he blinked a few times and waited for his blurred and hazy vision to settle slightly – focusing on the orange glow shining dimly through the bars before him, confirming his worst suspicions.

The dungeons. He was in Camelot's dungeons.

Trying to cast his mind back to the events that had led him to this moment, he couldn't help the second groan that escaped his lips as his actions in the marketplace suddenly resolved themselves in his mind.

How could he have been so _stupid_? Now that his anger from that morning had dissipated, he cursed his temper – the rage that had led him to ignore his reason and act without thought. He had, in broad daylight, attempted to attack a man who, despite his flagrant use of magic, wasn't actually doing any obvious harm – and then, when Cadal and the guards had attempted to restrain him, he had simply turned his aggression onto them instead.

He was supposed to be maintaining a low profile! His plan had been to enter Camelot, maybe find work somewhere, and then keep his head down and observe the city, gathering information until he worked out what his 'task' in this world was supposed to be. The plan definitely did not include getting arrested within an hour of actually entering the city!

Why, why, _why_ could he not control his temper? He knew that he had always been hot-headed, and was aware that his tendency to act on his emotions before he thought had got him into trouble on more than one occasion, but he also knew that as a King he had a duty to act in a more rational and level-headed fashion. The steady presence of Guinevere at his side, and Merlin's incessant nagging and unexpected wisdom had, he knew, been one of his strongest advantages during the early months of his reign – their influence had helped him grow into a more thoughtful monarch, one who was able to channel his emotions more productively.

Unfortunately, they hadn't been there to prevent his outburst today. Cringing, he tried not to picture the faces he was certain they would have worn had they witnessed his actions in the marketplace…

Once again pushing wistful thoughts of his home from his mind, Arthur tried to concentrate on his current dilemma. Pushing himself up into a sitting position, he waited for the swimming sensation in his head to subside before shuffling over slightly to rest his back against the wall of his cell. Allowing his head to fall backwards against the wall for a moment, he focused on breathing and overcoming the throbbing pain in his skull – pressing one hand to his scalp, he could feel the lump through his hair that was caused by whatever had been used to knock him out.

Then, opening his eyes once again he raised his head upwards, looking high up the wall for the grate that he knew would be there, hoping the light from outside might give him some idea of the time of day. Met only with darkness, and his mind finally registering the silence from the courtyard, he realised that it must be the middle of the night – meaning that he had been unconscious for the better part of the day.

He could hear no movement either from the corridor outside his small cell – he imagined that there must be guards situated somewhere down the corridor, maintaining watch on the prisoners through the night, but with the way his head was throbbing and his muscles ached from the fight and sleeping on the cold stone floor, he was in no fit state to investigate further. Closing his eyes once again against the pain, he settled down to wait until morning.

* * *

The first light of dawn was creeping through the grille in the wall of his cell when he finally heard movement in the corridor.

A guard of Camelot, dressed in his armour and carrying a lit torch, was patrolling the cells. Arriving at Arthur's cell, the man glanced inside briefly before turning to look back in the direction he had come.

"Captain! The prisoner is awake!"

Footsteps rang in the corridor, the unseen Captain clearly making his way towards the guard. Stepping back from the door, the guard stood to one side as the captain unlocked the door and made his way into the cell, the light from the torch catching his face and making Arthur's eyes widen in surprise.

The captain had no helmet on, his features clearly visible to the prisoner. Dark brown hair framed the very familiar handsome face, one that looked out of place dressed in the simple tunic and chain-mail of the Camelot guards instead of the crested cloak of the knights.

"Your name is Arthur, correct?" asked Lancelot, his face and voice emotionless as he gazed down at the figure on the floor. "Mind telling me what happened in the market square yesterday?"

Arthur couldn't help but stare at the man in front of him, his mouth hanging open slightly as he took in the image of a man he had expected never to see again – a man who he had simultaneously missed and hated. Lancelot had been his best knight, a man of honour who had very clearly embodied all that the knights of Camelot stood for and who (though it pained Arthur to admit it) he had missed by his side during the most recent battle against Morgana – and yet, seeing him again only brought back memories he thought he had buried, the pain of seeing the woman he loved with another man the night before their wedding. Arthur had never truly been able to reconcile his memories of this man, a man he had both loathed and admired, but he had still mourned his loss.

To see him again, alive and working as a guardsman in Camelot, was… unexpected.

"Well?" Lancelot repeated. "Do you have any explanation for what brought you to attack an unarmed man in the streets of Camelot? Your friend, the Welshman, said something about you objecting to the use of magic – care to elaborate further?"

Arthur found himself at a loss for words. From what Lancelot was saying, and from the reactions of the people in the square yesterday, it almost sounded like...

"I thought… I thought magic was banned in Camelot?" he had to ask. He had already seen so many differences between the city he had entered the previous day and his own Camelot that he supposed he shouldn't really be surprised, but he had assumed that the ban on magic would be one thing that remained constant in both the worlds. Why would magic have been eradicated in his world but not this one?

"Banned?" Lancelot blinked a couple of times, looking genuinely surprised by Arthur's question as he stared at the other man for a few silent moments. "Why would magic be banned? What gave you that idea?"

"My father always taught me that magic was an evil – that it corrupted the people who used it" Arthur felt a sudden need to justify his actions; he couldn't believe that the people here were so calm about magic when he himself had seen the pain and destruction it could cause. "I… I thought that the people here believed the same thing, that your King had banished all such practices many years ago"

Lancelot's face had hardened during Arthur's speech, his eyes darkening in something close to anger as he listened. "I don't know who told you that magic was banned here, but they were wrong. I never met your father, so I don't know what happened to him to make him hate magic so much, but you must understand that in this city magic is considered to be a great gift. Why, even the King's own ward, the Lady Morgana, is an accomplished sorceress – why would King Uther ban the practice of sorcery when he himself has welcomed it into this city? If you wish to stay here, magic is something you must learn to accept."

Arthur could hardly comprehend Lancelot's words. King Uther, his own father, who in his world had been fanatical about his hatred of magic, who had gone as far as mass execution in his attempt to purge every drop of sorcery from the land, had in this world actually _welcomed_ its use? The idea seemed so alien, so far out of the character he had come to expect of his ruthless father, that Arthur simply couldn't reconcile the image in his head.

And the way Lancelot said it… did that mean King Uther still alive in this world? And Morgana still his loving ward? Arthur found himself struggling with mixed feelings of joy and sadness – he could have the chance to see his father again, to see the sister he had lost to hatred and dark magic! And yet, he had promised Taliesin that he would remain undercover – he would only be able to watch his family from a distance.

Not, he reminded himself, that they were truly his family in this world.

For now, though, there was no point dwelling on such matters. He was still in the dungeons, and until he learnt his fate he could take no further action.

"I would like to apologise for my behaviour yesterday" he said stiffly. "I did not understand that magic was freely practiced here – you have my word that I will not attempt to repeat my actions while I remain in the city. I must ask: what do you plan for me?"

Lancelot nodded slowly, his face relaxing slightly as he accepted Arthur's apology. "Your friend vouched for you yesterday afternoon, and as witnesses have confirmed that he did in fact attempt to restrain you, we have decided to accept his word. You have remained in the dungeons overnight, which we believe is punishment enough for now. We will release you on the condition that should we witness any behaviour that suggests a repeat of your previous actions, you will be returned to this cell more permanently. You will be watched by the guards at all times – do you understand?"

Arthur nodded. He wasn't particularly thrilled with the idea of being followed by armed guardsmen at all hours of the day, but it was better than staying in this filthy dungeon. For now, he would just have to keep his head down – and preferably avoid magic users altogether.

After that, things moved quickly. Once Arthur had agreed to abide by the terms Lancelot set down, he was released and escorted from his cell. Surprisingly, he arrived with the at the entrance to the dungeons with the guards to find a rather stony faced Cadal waiting for him just outside – the Welshman simply nodded rather curtly as Arthur approached, before leaving silently up the stairs to the courtyard. Arthur was about to follow when Lancelot grabbed his arm.

"One more thing – we confiscated your sword during the fight yesterday. We won't be returning it to you just yet." Arthur immediately opened his mouth to argue, there was no way he leaving Excalibur in the hands of the guards, but Lancelot lifted his hand to silence him. "I promise you, we will return it eventually – once you have proven that you are no longer a threat to the citizens of Camelot." Lowering his voice to a whisper, he continued. "And there may be a way for you to retrieve it sooner. Your friend told us you were looking for work. I've seen how you fight – we could use men like you. If you truly repent your actions yesterday… well, you might want to consider joining the guards."

And with that, he released Arthur's elbow and walked away – leaving a somewhat stunned king standing alone in the corridor.

**A/N: I finished this a little later than I intended - I have perfectionist issues, and ended up having to re-edit this chapter aboutt 6 times before I was happy with it! (and even then it took sheer force of will on my part to just _leave it_ this time!)**

**Anyway, thankyou so much for all the fantastic reviews! I never expected to receive such a positive response with my first fanfiction :) And to all the people who favourited and followed too!  
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**Elfpen: your review was anonymous, so I can't reply properly, but I wanted to say a special thanks for the amazing review - I'm so glad you're enjoying my integration of the welsh stuff! I was a little nervous about it when I started, as they have the potential of overcomplicating the story, but I really wanted to drag some more context into the the setting we're familiar with (there are other reasons too, which I won't give away yet for fear of spoiling the plot) - anyway, your review was definitely encouraging :) Thanks again!  
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	7. Mother

**Chapter 7 – Mother**

The air was cold in the courtyard, the late autumn weather announcing the onset of winter as Arthur stood there, blinking to allow his eyes to adjust to the light after the dank gloom of the dungeons. The occasional drop of rain fell from the overcast sky above, and his breath fogged before him in the freezing air, warnings of an unpleasant day to come. Pulling his tatty cloak close around his shoulders the released captive scanned the walled square trying to find Cadal, uncertain for now of his next move.

Arthur was profoundly grateful to the Welshman. Despite their still being practically strangers, it seemed that he had stood up and vouched for him following his capture – and his presence in the dungeon upon his release suggested an interest in his wellbeing. For a man he had just met to show that kind of consideration was definitely unusual, and Arthur wanted to thank the man properly – and try to understand his motives a little. And yet, as he observed the activity in the courtyard, Arthur could see no sign of his new acquaintance; the faces he saw wandering the courtyard now belonged only to the castle servants and guards, people whose occupations led them to travel into the castle at this early hour. Cadal was nowhere to be seen.

Sighing, the young king made his way out of the castle grounds and back into the town, having to regularly dodge to one side to make way for horses and carts as he walked through the gates and across the bridge. The people he passed on the streets barely spared him a glance as he walked by, their minds occupied with their own business – dawn had only recently broken, but already most citizens of Camelot were up and hard at work, little time to rest as they strove to earn enough money for themselves and their families. Twice Arthur had to slow down or come to a complete halt as he waited for a small crowd to disperse where people had gathered around this market stall or another – and on one occasion he was startled by a sharp jab in his lower back, the elbow of an old woman loaded down with baskets of fruit thumping him to demand a way past.

As it had the previous day, the whole situation just felt _alien_ – the familiar once again rendered unfamiliar. And it didn't take Arthur long to figure out what exactly was bothering him this time.

It was the complete lack of attention he was receiving as he walked down his own streets – one that had been granted him by the citizens of Camelot his entire life.

As a child, the young prince had visited the lower town infrequently, sometimes with the King but more often alone, for the purpose of allowing the people to recognise their future ruler. He had always been accompanied by a squadron of his father's guards, and occasionally even a knight, during these visits – the guards had been charged with the solemn duty of protecting the juvenile Heir to the Throne, and had taken that duty very seriously; parting the crowds to allow the prince to pass unhindered along Camelot's narrow streets. Later, as his visits grew more frequent, he had often been accompanied by a gang of 'friends', young lords and trainee knights who had crowded around and pandered to the prince in the hope of gaining influence and favour – in the arrogance of those days Arthur had barely even noticed the peasants who lined the streets, his superiority assumed.

In recent years, of course, Arthur had grown and matured greatly, and had started visiting the city to see his people, rather than the other way round – he had learnt to respect the common citizens of Camelot, and they in turn had come to respect him. Now when he walked the streets of Camelot, the people still stepped to the side to allow him a right of way, but it was one that was earned – even when he travelled alone (or, at least, with a small contingent of guards at a respectful and discrete distance) the people still stepped aside to allow their prince passage, recognising and loving their future ruler.

In this city, Arthur received none of that attention. He was just another face in the crowd.

It was bizarre… and strangely liberating.

The last, and only, time he had ever truly felt the same freedom was that one week when he had pretended to be a peasant and stayed at Guinevere's house while competing secretly in the jousting tournament. And at the time he had been far too wrapped up in his plan, as well as a sense of confusion over his growing feelings for Gwen, that he hadn't truly noticed the lack of recognition.

His newfound sense of liberty was quickly lost, however, when he spotted the guard following behind him at a surreptitious distance up the street. It seemed that Lancelot had been serious when he explained that Arthur would be followed at all times until he had proven himself trustworthy – even here, the blond man wasn't entirely free of attention.

Pushing his way past yet another gathering of people, his attention was drawn to a sweet smell in the air; the odour from a bakers shop a short distance away reminding him that he hadn't had a proper meal now for over a day. Mindful of the growing ache in his stomach, he fished for some coins in the money pouch at his belt while making his way down the street towards the growing queue.

* * *

Half an hour later, Arthur was working his way steadily through the large loaf of bread he had bought for his breakfast – the simple food wasn't exactly what he had become accustomed to as royalty, but he had been far too hungry to pay much attention to detail and had simply opted for the largest loaf he could see. A couple of apples purchased from a market stall on his way past completed the basic meal – and at that moment they tasted like the most lavish breakfast Merlin had ever provided for him.

Actually, thinking about it, there were many things that would taste better than half the food Merlin brought him… But that was beside the point.

Arthur had managed to find himself a quiet spot to eat in: an abandoned patch of grass between a small house and the city wall. In this forgotten corner of the city he was sheltered from the wind by his surroundings, and the weak autumn sun had managed to break through a gap in the clouds long enough to warm the air in his little nook until it was no longer unbearably cold. Sitting on an upturned barrel, he could lean against the stone wall of the city and watch people passing by on the street before him. The guard who had been following him that morning was standing innocently to attention against the wall some twenty metres away, looking for all the world like just another guard on patrol in the city – far enough away that Arthur could easily ignore him.

For that brief moment, he was almost content.

And that's when he saw her.

* * *

Tears were streaming down his face as he finally stopped to catch his breath, one hand flung out to steady himself against the outside wall of Camelot castle. Sucking in great gasps of air, he turned his back to the wall and sank down into a crouch, wiping his face while he leaned the back of his head against the hard stone.

He wasn't entirely sure how he had ended up here – the details of his flight through the city were all a little hazy in his fogged mind. He supposed that, in his thoughtless rush, he had automatically aimed for the part of the city that felt most familiar, most safe: the citadel itself. The castle had been his home all his life – it was only natural that in his panic he would aim for the security of its walls.

And it helped that _she_ had been riding in the opposite direction: away from the castle, into the lower town and towards the outer gates. After that initial moment of complete and utter shock, his first instinct had simply been to flee, to put as much distance as possible between himself and the impossible.

It was probably a good thing that he had come to his senses enough to stop his headlong flight _before_ he arrived panicked and sobbing in the castle's courtyard – he had already drawn enough attention to himself since his arrival.

Still…

He should have expected it, really. He should have considered it a possibility at least – this was, after all, a world where he had never lived. In his world, his life had meant her death. Here…

But he hadn't thought of it like that – the idea that she might still be alive in this world hadn't even crossed his mind. And to suddenly see her there, the woman he had dreamed of all his life but had never had the chance to meet, had never even seen until that one false image granted him by Morgause, which had nearly had such disastrous consequences. The woman whose early death had cast such a deep shadow upon Arthur's entire childhood… it had all been too sudden, too quick.

Queen Ygraine…

His_ mother._

Riding past Arthur's resting place on a fine horse, surrounded by mounted knights and an armed guard.

Solid and real and _alive._

Arthur hadn't even registered more than the fact that it was undoubtedly his mother on that horse, that he was truly seeing her in the flesh for the very first time since he had been taken from her dead arms at birth, before his emotions had taken over and instinct had kicked in.

He overwhelmed mind had only presented two options. It was either throw himself into her arms then and there, or run away as fast as he could.

It was probably for the best that he had chosen the latter. Things could have become very awkward very quickly if he had tried to approach her so suddenly, what with the knights and the guards and all. And besides, it really wouldn't have been dignified.

"Um, excuse me?" a voice from above brought him suddenly out if his memories.

Turning his head to one side, Arthur saw the guard who had been trailing him earlier, crouching next to him with a perplexed expression.

"You alright? Only that was quite a chase you just led me on"

Arthur nodded slowly, still too wound up to answer properly. His breathing and heart rate were slowly returning to normal, but his emotions would probably take a little longer to recover.

"Well…" the guard didn't look particularly reassured, but straightened up anyway and took a few paces back from Arthur. "Just, can I ask that if you feel like doing that again you let me know in advance? Only, I'm supposed to be keeping an eye on you, you see, and I can't do that if you're planning on taking off like that all the time." The guard pulled out a pair of handcuffs, and waved them reluctantly as he was speaking. "I might be forced to use these, see, if you do it again. And I really don't want to be doing that, because that could lead to all sorts of unpleasantness for everyone, but I don't want to lose my job either."

The warning wasn't really necessary; Arthur was still recovering from his shock, and wanted nothing more than to close his eyes and shut out this confusing world.

Sighing, the man returned the handcuffs to the clip on his belt and walked to stand some distance away from his charge – returning to his guise of guard on standard duty at the gates. The king remained where he was, his thoughts elsewhere.

* * *

Early afternoon found Arthur seated further down the road leading to the castle gates, sheltering from the light drizzle under the only cover he could find, while his stomach protested the lack of food – his bread and apples had been left somewhere, dropped during his headlong flight through the city, but despite this discomfort he was unwilling to leave his lookout. He had been moved from his original position against the citadel walls by a suspicious knight several hours earlier, but instead of leaving the area completely he had instead found himself perching in the nearest secure spot he could find and turning his attention to the people passing on the road.

He had at first not understood what it was that drew him to set up watch on this particular stretch of road, but it had not taken him long to figure it out – the small child in him, the one that had led him to flee in tears that morning, wanted to wait for Queen Ygraine to return. Although he knew it was foolish, that this woman wasn't really his mother and there was no way he could communicate with her as such, he just wanted to _see_ her again – he hadn't got a proper look this morning, after all, and he just wanted to find out as much as he could about her life here. After all, when he was a boy his father had never spoken of his wife, and the few courtiers he had asked who remembered her had been unwilling to come between the king and his son.

For most of his life, the only knowledge Arthur had gained about his mother was through the stories Gaius had told his as a child – and even they had not been greatly detailed, as if even the physician was somehow unwilling to talk too much about the late Queen.

As Arthur got older, people had frequently remarked that he was like his mother; he had always been happy when he received those compliments, but having never met her he couldn't say for sure whether such statements were really true, or had simply been tailored to please the crown prince.

He wanted to know for himself, to learn as much as he could even if it was from a distance.

And that was why he sat here, sheltering from the cold wind in his worn cloak and stubbornly ignoring the pangs of hunger that were only irritated by the wafting smell of cooking meat from somewhere upwind.

When the Queen had ridden past him earlier, she had been travelling away from the citadel. With the small number of guards accompanying her, and based on the unwelcoming weather, it was unlikely that she would be away from the warmth of the citadel for long – and when she did finally return, Arthur would be sitting right here waiting for her.

Sure enough, it was only an hour or so later that the sound of hoof beats against cobbles signalled the return of the royal to her castle.

Pushing himself to his feet Arthur took a couple of steps forward, settling himself against a crate that had been left by the side of the street. From this vantage point he had a clear view of the cobbled street, without being too conspicuous.

Rounding the corner, the troop of riders made their appearance. Three knights led the short column, and Arthur dimly noted the presence of Sir Leon among them – the faithful knight seemed to be leading the group. However, Arthur's eyes were immediately drawn to his mother's face – there she was, riding serenely in the middle of the procession, a small smile across her beautiful face as she spoke to the maid who was currently obscured by one of the lead knights.

She was older than Arthur expected, the only image he had of his mother being the one granted to him by Morgause; this Ygraine was still beautiful, the lines on her face only serving to soften her features without destroying them. As he had on the previous fateful occasion, the young king could see himself in her face as he watched her – the colour of her eyes and hair, her smile, the proud way she lifted her chin. Drinking in as much as he could of her face as she passed by, he couldn't help but notice that there was something sad about the woman before him; although she smiled it seemed almost fixed, as if it was a mask to hide some pain lingering beneath. There were shadows beneath her eyes that spoke of sleepless nights, and Arthur thought that there was some tenseness in her shoulders.

For a moment, it surprised him that he could read her so well – then he realised that the mask she was wearing was identical to the one he himself had worn sometimes. Growing up in the public eye he had learned young to hide his true feelings from the world, for fear of showing weakness – it seemed that this was a lesson his mother had also had to learn.

The voice of the maidservant quickly snapped his attention from his mother's face to the woman who rode beside her – his heart skipping a beat as she finally came into view from behind the leading knight.

Guinevere. Dressed in the simple clothes she had worn back when she had been Morgana's maid, her short hair scraped back into a practical bun. There seemed to be affection in her gaze as she looked to the Queen, and there was a reassuring note in her voice as she spoke – although at this distance Arthur could not make out what she said. Whatever it was, it seemed to have a beneficial impact on the Queen – for a short moment her smile brightened, reaching her eyes for the first time.

Arthur's heart immediately lightened – there may have been sadness in Queen Ygraine's face, but at least she had a friend in Gwen. The beautiful seamstress was loyal companion, and Arthur knew her quiet wisdom better than anyone. It pleased him, somehow, to see that his mother and wife were such good friends in this world: he had always believed that Queen Ygraine would have approved of his choice of wife, but it was reassuring to see the companionable way they interacted here.

By this time the procession had passed Arthur's lookout post, the two knights who brought up the rear clattering onto the walkway that led into the citadel. Without really knowing what he was doing, the young king followed.

Ambling innocently through the gates, he nodded politely to the guards as he passed them and entered the courtyard, trying to look as if he had business there. Making his way below the shaded colonnade that lined one side of the square, he walked along until he founded a shaded spot where he was close enough to observe the happenings in the square.

The party had come to a halt at the base of the great steps, and his mother was being helped from her horse by Sir Leon. As he watched, grooms appeared to take the horses away to the stables and the knights bowed to their queen before making their way to the armoury, leaving Ygraine only in the company of Sir Leon and Guinevere. From Arthur's distant watchpoint, it seemed like the knight was being particularly protective of the two women – he clearly didn't want to let the queen out of his sight, walking a step behind her as she ascended the great stairs.

It was only moments later that the small group disappeared through the darkened doorway, but Arthur tried to hold on to every last second – staring after his mother until he could see her no more.

He had never felt more alone.

**A/N: Yes, I am still alive. And no, I have not given up on this story.**

**Very, very sorry about the long delay - I can't promise it won't happen again, as I've realised that I apparently only have a three chapter attention span, but I will promise to make any gaps a bit shorter in the future! And I also promise to post the next chapter a little early as an apology - how's that?  
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**Anyway, thanks for all the reviews/alerts/favourites, they really are appreciated! And, after all the grief this chapter gave me (hardest chapter so far), I really hope it doesn't disappoint...  
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	8. Missing

**Chapter 8 - Missing**

"They should be back by now…"

For the fourth time in under half an hour, Guinevere's worried voice rang out across the small chamber. Seated on a hard chair in the corner, Merlin barely glanced up from the boot he was polishing – it had been some time now since Gwen had started her restless pacing, repeatedly rising from her own rather more comfortable chair to circle the room a few times before returning and pulling listlessly at some embroidery until the cycle started again. Although Merlin understood her anxiety, there was very little he could do to help his friend – after all, he wasn't exactly feeling calm either, and he was certain that any attempts on his part to reassure the Queen would more likely have the adverse effect of actually making the two of them even more worried than they already were…

Instead, he had chosen to resort to the mindless repetitive task of boot polishing (and there were always more than enough boots to clean in this castle) in the hope that the monotonous activity would help stop his brain running wild, while he sat with Gwen in the hope of offering some silent support.

It wasn't really working for either of them.

"Its nearly dusk. They said they wouldn't be gone too long – Gwaine promised!" pressing her forehead to the glass panes in the window, the queen squinted down into the courtyard below, desperately scanning the entrance archway for any sign of the knights that had left the previous afternoon. "He promised to send word the minute they found anything. Arthur and his knights can't be far, they were only three days from Camelot when they last sent word – Gwaine should have caught up with them by now… He promised!"

Putting the boots to one side, Merlin sighed tiredly. It was getting worse, Gwen was getting more anxious by the minute – and right now, there was absolutely nothing Merlin could do to reassure her.

It had been two days since Arthur should have returned to Camelot. Sir Bors, who had left on the patrol with the king and his knights, had returned to the citadel several days earlier to report the current status of the patrol to the Queen and Sir Leon – it was standard practice to send a runner back to the city midway through the longer patrols, so that any business that arose from them could be dealt with promptly. The knight had reported nothing out of the ordinary, and as far as he was concerned Arthur and the remainder of the patrol would only be a matter of days behind him.

At first, the King's late arrival hadn't caused too much concern. After all, unusual things happened in Camelot all the time, a few extra hours was nothing to be concerned about. Maybe they had run into a bit of trouble in the woods, and had just been delayed slightly – all perfectly normal, nothing to be overly worried about.

But as time passed, and one day led into the next, concern had begun to grow in the court about the continued absence of the King. By the afternoon of the second day, as whispers of terrible beasts and fearsome bandits began to reach the ears of the nobility from the citizens of the lower town, it had become increasingly obvious that action needed to be taken. In all probability, the council agreed, there was nothing sinister behind the monarch's late arrival – maybe a horse had thrown a shoe or one of the knights had fallen ill or something of that nature, nothing particularly dangerous but enough to slow down the troupe's progress. But there was no harm sending out a small group of knights to meet the returning patrol – just to calm the fears of Camelot's people.

Sir Gwaine and Sir Bors had ridden out the previous evening with a couple of the older knights, ones who knew the land and forests surrounding Camelot well. Sir Bors and Sir Ector were to follow the route back to Longnor, where the patrol had last stopped, in the hope of meeting the King travelling in the other direction. Meanwhile, Sir Gwaine and Sir Pellinore, both respected as two of the finest trackers among the knights, would search the woods closer to the city, in the hopes of finding anything within half a day's ride that might explain the disappearance of the patrol – if there was anything sinister at work, they would be the ones to find it.

And Merlin, who wanted nothing more than to aid the search for his friend, had been left behind in Camelot – what use would he be on a mission like this, he was just a servant after all. As if he hadn't travelled out with Arthur on much more difficult and dangerous missions, and more than carried his own weight – for goodness sake, he had even led Sir Gwaine into the perilous lands to find his lord, surely he at least should know better! But no, Merlin was just a simple servant and this was no task for him, leave it to the knights.

Overlooked and undervalued, that was him.

It was so _frustrating_.

"Merlin!" Gwen's sudden cry ripped Merlin from his bitter thoughts. "Merlin, Gwaine's back!"

Knocking over the pile of boots in his haste to stand up, Merlin rushed to the window where Guinevere was beckoning wildly. Sure enough, he could see the indistinct shapes of Gwaine and Pellinore in the darkening courtyard, drawing their horses to a stop as stable hands rushed to gather their reigns – scanning the gate quickly, Merlin tried to see if there was any sign of the missing patrol following, but the two knights had clearly returned alone.

He felt his spirits sink lower – he knew, without having to ask, that Gwaine hadn't found anything.

Truth be told, he had known for some time that none of the knights would discover Arthur's whereabouts.

"Gwen…" He turned, intending to comfort the queen – to find that his friend was already halfway across the chamber, her long skirts swishing behind her as she near sprinted to the doors.

"Merlin, gather the council together. We meet in the council chamber in half an hour!"

And she was gone.

* * *

It had been a short session. Gwaine and Pellinore had given their report to the solemn council, stating that they had discovered no sign of Arthur and his knights near the citadel so, wherever they were, they were still some distance away. The council had listened gravely, then argued and bickered for about twenty minutes before Gwen lost her patience and ordered them to retire – she would discuss their options with her most trusted advisors over the night, before presenting her ideas to the council in the morning.

Standing behind Gaius' seat, waiting patiently for the remaining members of the council to file out of the hall, Merlin couldn't help but bemoan the futility of what they were trying to achieve here. Watching Gwen and Leon talking intently with the returned knights over on the far corner, Merlin knew that the others still held on to the hope that whatever had befallen the missing patrol was something they could fix. Arthur was, after all, not just the King but also the Kingdom's greatest knight – he had faced almost insurmountable odds in the past, and always before he had been able to vanquish them. And not only that, but he was accompanied by some of the best of his knights, the most elite fighting force in the five kingdoms.

Although Guinevere feared for her missing husband, and the people worried about the disappearance of their King, none of them truly believed that he was ever in genuine danger. The foes Arthur had faced and conquered had made the King near invincible in the eyes of his people – their faith in him was absolute.

In the eyes of the Queen and the council, there was very little that Arthur would not overcome.

Merlin knew better.

While Arthur may have faced great threats in the past, never before had he had to face them alone. For years now, Merlin had been standing there at his side; unnoticed, perhaps, but ready to do whatever it took to protect the Prince – even if the nature of that help would probably not have been welcomed had said Prince been aware of it. The truth was, without Merlin at his side Arthur was vulnerable.

And, despite Arthur's skills with a blade, his courage and determination, there was still one threat that he was completely helpless against.

Whatever had happened to the patrol – and something had happened, Merlin was certain of it – magic was the cause.

Three nights ago, when he had collapsed on the floor of the study before Sir Leon, it was as if something had snapped in his mind. The growing sense of danger that had been building up that day had vanished, leaving nothing in its place but an… emptiness. He hadn't really noticed at the time, being too drained by the experience to pay it any mind, but when the feeling had persisted the following morning he had begun to worry.

It was like there was a part of his mind, a sense or knowledge that he wasn't aware that he even had, which had just… gone. There one minute, and then vanished like it had never existed. A core part of him had disappeared, leaving behind nothing but a profound sense of loss.

Then there were the dreams. Every night, for three nights, his sleep had been disturbed by the most vivid images – people, places, events, meaning nothing and everything to him, things that felt so familiar and yet utterly unrecognisable. He had awoken each morning bathed in a cold sweat, his mind grappling to hold on to those images that had haunted his sleep, and yet watching in despair as they fluttered just out of his reach – tauntingly close, if he could only push that little bit further.

It had left him frustrated and disorientated.

Only three images remained to him, those first three that had marked the start of his ordeal. And if they were a true vision… well, the stories they told weren't exactly comforting.

Arthur in the Crystal Cave, a stranger with red hair, and a ruined tower. What did they even mean?

"So, what do we do now?" Gwaine's voice cut through the silence of the empty hall.

The rest of the council had left the chamber, leaving what remained of the core of Arthur's court behind. Gwen had sunk into the chair at the head of the table, her right as head of the court in Arthur's absence. Leon and Gwaine were taking their places in the two chairs closest to the queen on her right, opposite Gaius who was seated on her left. After glancing round quickly just to double check that all the nobles truly had gone, that none of them were left to witness the 'lack of propriety' a servant sitting in the presence of royalty would represent, Merlin scooted round to sit in the chair beside Gaius, slouching to rest with his chin in one hand.

"We must reassure the people" Gwen stated immediately, her new role as a Queen and leader not forgotten even in her distress. "Arthur's disappearance has caught their attention – rumours have started among the townsfolk, many fear that he may not return. By your report, Gwaine, there was no sign of Arthur within a day of the city – and until Sir Bors and Sir Ector return we cannot be certain how far away the patrol is. It may still be many days before Arthur's return, and we must ensure that we can maintain calm until then. We must not allow panic to spread."

Despite the edge to Guinevere's tone, there was a surety and confidence in her words. In the months since she had been crowned Queen, Gwen's inner nobility had come to the fore – at Arthur's side, she had proved herself an adept leader, able to understand the people and command the respect of her new peers. Although she still suffered some uncertainty when making decisions, she was learning to lead with a wisdom that had come as a great surprise to many of the more sceptical members of the court.

And even now, her unwavering belief in Arthur held fast. Guinevere knew without a doubt that the King would return, and Merlin could hear it in her voice and in her words.

Far from reassuring him, it did the opposite – Gwen needed to be prepared for the worst.

"And what if they're right – what if Arthur doesn't come back?" All heads turned to Merlin at his quiet question, a look of shock on their features. Gwen and Leon in particular looked outraged at the suggestion, while the other two were more stoic.

"What?" Merlin defended himself. "Surely you must have considered it? If something has happened to the King, and I'm not saying it has, surely we must be prepared for the worst? No matter what happens, we need to be ready to protect Camelot – without Arthur, if needs be."

There was silence following this statement, as Merlin's words sunk in. Forcing himself to look up and meet Gwen's eyes, Merlin was shocked to discover that the Queen actually looked upset – there was pain in her eyes, as well as surprise.

"Merlin… Merlin, how can you say that?" there was almost a sob in Guinevere's words – in that moment it was clear that, no matter how great a Queen she was shaping up to be, she was still a woman discussing the possible loss of her husband. "Arthur is a great knight, a great warrior, and he doesn't travel alone – surely you of all people must have faith that he will come back? He is only a few days late, we shouldn't assume the worst."

"You should have more faith in your King, Merlin" Sir Leon's accusing voice supported Gwen's claims. "Arthur has faced many battles before, and always made it home safely. There is no reason to assume that this time should be any different."

"Merlin is right." All eyes turned to Gaius, who had remained silent until this moment. "I'm sorry, your majesty, but you must be prepared. There is all likelihood that the King will come riding over the hill tomorrow or the next day, with nothing more than a sprained ankle or a lame horse – but there is also the possibility that he will not. It may hurt you to think it, Gwen, but should the worst happen then you must be prepared to take charge – Camelot is still vulnerable following Morgana's attack, and we cannot afford to show weakness."

"I agree" Gwaine chimed in to the conversation, his normally joyful eyes dark and solemn. "Expect the best, but prepare for the worst. Maybe we have nothing to worry about, but we should have a plan just in case – I remember this city under Morgana's rule, and I have no intention of allowing it to happen again." He glanced at Merlin, who nodded, grateful for the support of the knight.

"Though it pains me to admit it, perhaps you do have a point." Leon looked to the still distressed Queen, and spoke softly. "Your majesty, I have great faith in the King, and every belief that he will return safely to Camelot. But Merlin speaks the truth – if Arthur does not return, we must be ready. Maybe it would be best to discuss this in the morning, when you are rested, but know this: should the worst happen, as Arthur's Queen the throne is rightfully yours, and I will do all in my power to protect and aid you."

Despite her sorrow, Gwen was able to muster a small smile for the knight. "Thankyou Leon, you are a good friend. And you're right, I can't talk about this now – perhaps tomorrow you would all join me for breakfast before the council meeting? We can discuss it then."

* * *

"Merlin, wait!"

Gwaine's call echoed down the corridor outside the council chamber, bringing Merlin and his mentor to a halt.

"Merlin, I want to talk to you. But not here, we'll speak in Gaius' chambers."

Nodding, Merlin turned and the three of them continued silently through the corridors to the physician's rooms. Once the door was shut behind them, and Gaius had busied himself with a potion he had left brewing at one of his benches, the knight turned to the servant.

"You don't believe Arthur is coming back, do you?" The question was blunt, causing Merlin to flinch.

"What...? Why would-"

"I saw you in the council chamber before." Gwaine interrupted. "When we were giving our report, I was watching you. You didn't seem surprised that we hadn't found anything – actually, you almost looked like that was what you were expecting. And later, when you told us that we needed to be ready in case Arthur didn't return? Merlin, that didn't sound like advice or even a warning. It sounded like a prophecy."

"I- um…" Gaius was watching them now, his face holding a warning expression behind Gwaine's back. What could he say to Gwaine now, how could he even explain how he knew that something had happened to the King on his journey because Merlin hadn't been there to protect him?

Despite being Merlin's friend, and perhaps the only knight he trusted more than Arthur, Merlin was still not ready to reveal his magic to this man yet – he couldn't bear to lose his friendship, for one thing, and then there was always the chance that word would get back to Arthur. After all, the more people in on a secret, the greater the chance that someone would accidentally let something loose – not that he didn't trust Gwaine to keep his mouth shut, but still.

"Merlin, everytime something goes wrong in this kingdom, every time there's a threat to Arthur, you're always the first to know. I don't know how you do it, but you have the uncanny ability to always be right – so I need you to tell me, do you believe Arthur is in danger, or don't you?"

"…I do" Merlin had no other way to reply to that question – he didn't want to lie to Gwaine any more than he had to, and quite honestly he needed an ally.

"Then we have to do something about it." The determination in Gwaine's voice took Merlin by surprise. He had expected the knight to need more convincing, so the immediate declaration that not only did Gwaine believe Merlin's declaration but was prepared to drop everything to help him was unexpected.

"Just like that?" Merlin couldn't keep the scepticism out of his voice. "You're just going to believe me like that, without any proof?"

One of Gwaine's eyebrows rose, as he stared at Merlin in disbelief. "Merlin, my friend, have you ever known me doubt you before? Give me one good example, one time I haven't listened to you-" Merlin opened his mouth to reply, but Gwaine cut him off. "Except with the Lamia. I was enchanted, doesn't count. Nothing?" he watched in satisfaction as Merlin shook his head mutely. "Good. You've never led me astray before – hell, I wouldn't even be here if it wasn't for you. You've got a knack for knowing things, and from what I've seen you're rarely ever wrong. So, if you say Arthur's in real trouble, then I believe you."

Merlin just stared at the knight, overwhelmed by his faith. Not since Lancelot's death had anyone besides Gaius been prepared to place so much belief in him, and the thought rendered him speechless. Oh, the other knights and Arthur trusted him, of course, but it was usually such an effort to get them to listen when he had something important to say – even Arthur and Gwen, who had both known him the longest, usually needed convincing of the truth.

To have Gwaine stand there and declare his absolute trust, without even knowing Merlin's secret, was… humbling.

So he said the only thing he could, the only word that adequately summed up how he was feeling.

"Thankyou."

Behind Gwaine, Gaius was wearing one of the widest smiles he had ever seen on the old man. The look of fondness and pride on his aged face was so strong that Merlin was almost embarrassed to see it – he was sure he didn't deserve such loyalty from either man.

Running a hand through his short hair, he forced himself to smile at his friends before seating himself at the old table he shared with Gaius. Gwaine seated himself opposite the young man, while Gaius returned to the potion he had been neglecting. Silence reigned for a short while before Gwaine broke it.

"So what do you know? And what do you want me to do?"

Drumming his fingers on the table, Merlin gave it a moments thought. "Do you have a map of Camelot?"

Gwaine retrieved a worn, much-folded map from the small bag he still carried at his side and handed it silently to the servant. Merlin was suddenly uncomfortably reminded that the knight had not yet had the chance to rest since his return to Camelot, the bag an indication that he had not even returned to his chambers. But for now he pushed the thought to one side – they had work to do.

"Thanks. Um… So, we know that the patrol never made it to within half a day of the city, you would have seen it if they had, which means that whatever happened to them happened between Longnor and about here… That's still a lot of ground to cover…" Merlin indicated a wide stretch of land with his fingers, drawing a large circle that covered everything from the Isle of the Blessed to the forests surrounding the city. "That could take days to search!"

"Well, what else do we know?" Gaius had joined them, standing at one end of the table to look down at the map while he shook some unidentifiable fluid in a jar.

"He was last seen here" Gwaine took over, pointing at where Longnor was marked on the map. "And this was the route they planned to take back to Camelot." his finger traced a line that ran southwards slightly before curving back round the lower end of the White Mountains and leading back to Camelot. So, assuming they kept to the plan, we only need to focus on this area… Still a lot though…"

Merlin was staring at the map in growing horror, as things began to fall together in his mind. "…and we know that magic had something to do with this…"

"We do?" Gwaine looked startled. "How do we know that?"

"… a feeling." Gwaine's eyebrow shot up again, but Merlin was no longer paying any attention, focused as he was on the parchment before him.

No. There was no way.

_Not even Arthur could be that stupid._

**A/N: So here we go, the next chapter up a little early, as promised! Hopefully I'll be able to get the next one up this weekend, then it will be back to one chapter a week. Theoretically.**_  
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**Anyway, thanks again for the reviews/favourites/follows :) They really do help me keep writing (even if my sporadic updating might make that a little hard to believe!)  
**

**See you soon!  
**


	9. Searching

**Chapter 9 - Searching**

The weak midday sunlight was breaking through the clouds as Merlin and Gwaine raced along the west-bound road from Camelot. Already their journey was well underway, the forests that immediately surrounded the city having made way for open countryside, fields and small farming villages peppering the landscape. To the left, the White Mountains could be seen looming over the countryside, the layer of snow on their peaks already deeper and lower than it had been only a week previously.

They had left the castle a few hours before dawn, the first rays of morning light reaching them through the leaves of the forest. Merlin had spent the entire night awake preparing for the journey; gathering their supplies, collecting Gwaine's equipment and preparing the horses. Meanwhile, at Merlin's insistence, Gwaine had taken the opportunity to sleep and regain some strength after his previous search mission – had had been up the entire night previously, and would be no use on this quest if he was falling asleep in the saddle.

Now, with several hours journey behind them, they were almost halfway to their destination. They had had to push the horses hard, but Merlin felt a sense of urgency in their mission – if something had happened to Arthur in the Valley of the Fallen Kings, he wanted to find out about it as soon as he possibly could. He was holding on to hope that maybe there would be something he could do, if they got there soon enough.

"Merlin, I know we're in a hurry, but I think we should give the horses a break. They can't keep this up much longer."

Gwaine's shout was barely audible over the wind rushing past Merlin's ears, but he had to concede that the knight was probably right. The horses were exhausted – they had been woken early and ridden hard, they deserved a rest. Slowing his horse reluctantly, he started casting around for a good place to stop.

Ten minutes later the travellers were sitting on the grass by the side of the road, protected from the bitter wind by a low stone wall. Merlin idly watched a farmer herding his cows in the distance as he pulled his threadbare jacket closer around his shoulders, huddling into its meagre warmth, while he snacked on the lump of bread he had procured from his pack. Beside him Gwaine was rubbing his hands together and breathing into them in an attempt to return some blood to his frozen fingers.

"You know Gwen is going to be mad at us, don't you?" It wasn't a question from the knight, exactly, more a statement of fact. The Queen was going to be furious when she found out they were missing, and they both knew it.

Neither of them had seen the Queen since the council session the previous evening, and they had decided to leave the castle so early that waking her hadn't sounded like the best option. Besides, Merlin wasn't convinced that Guinevere would have believed him when he explained his suspicions – she was so focused on the idea that Arthur had merely been delayed on his journey that any suggestion that more sinister forces were at work was unlikely to be well received. No, he had decided, better to gather the proof first, and only _then_ present their findings to her.

And, of course, if she had believed Merlin… Well, he had already been left behind at the castle twice in the past month – no doubt different knights would have been dispatched while the _servant_ stayed home again. Even Sir Gwaine might well have been left behind – he had, after all, only just returned from the last search.

Merlin knew, deep down, that whatever they faced in the Valley was something that _he_ would have to deal with, and he was not prepared to take any chances. Act first, explain later.

"Gaius will talk her round" he replied dubiously. The elderly physician had volunteered to be their mediator to the Queen, but Merlin wasn't certain that even he could be successful in the face of Guinevere's wrath. Gwen might be an understanding person under normal circumstances, but Merlin knew that when angered she could be a force to be reckoned with.

"Hmm, maybe." There was another short silence, both men contemplating their likely welcome upon their return with some trepidation. Gwaine, again, was the first to change the subject. "What makes you so sure Arthur's in the Valley of the Fallen Kings, anyway? For all we know Sir Ector has found him already, and the whole lot of them are returning to Camelot as we speak. Not that I'm doubting you, my friend – I'm just trying to understand."

Merlin rubbed his hand through his hair as he tried to find the best explanation for his theory – one that didn't involve 'feelings' or 'visions', or anything else that sounded either completely insubstantial, or a little bit too close to magic. He had to wryly admit to himself that he had never been very good at this.

It wasn't like he could explain to a knight of Camelot that he had seen a vision several nights ago of Arthur sitting in the Crystal Cave, a vision whose contents he was beginning to suspect had already come to pass. Or that, at the same time, he had realised that he had _no idea where Arthur was_ – a thought that had led him to discover with some shock that up until that moment he had always been aware, on some level, of exactly where the arrogant prat was. Suddenly being cut off from his King had been disorientating – and extremely unnerving.

"Well," he frowned, "its… complicated. We know something must have happened to Arthur: he's been gone too long, and, no matter what Gwen or Leon say, if it was only a small problem he would have sent word ahead. And, I'll admit it, Arthur's a great warrior – he's more than capable enough to face any normal threat."

"Which is why you think magic was the cause?" Gwaine sounded a little sceptical. "I know that you Camelot folk are all taught to fear magic; and, lets face it, with all the magical threats that have tried to bring down this kingdom I don't really blame you – but don't you think pinning any unexplained event on sorcery without any proof might be going a bit far?"

Merlin glared at the knight, trying not to show how hurt he was by that last accusation. "Believe me, Gwaine, I'm not accusing magic without proof. And I thought you said you didn't doubt me? Never mind," he quickly cut off his friend's protest "Its not important. But magic is at the root of this, I'm certain of it. And the Valley of the Fallen Kings lies just to the east of the route Arthur was planning to take back to Camelot – does that not strike you as being too much of a coincidence? I bet he thought that if he cut across the bottom of the Valley he could save a day's riding – he never did believe the stories of the curse."

"And you do?"

Merlin nodded slowly. "Too much has happened to us in that Valley for me to ignore it – just think of all the times we've been ambushed there, or one of us has been injured. Yes, Gwaine, I think there's something different about that valley, something… wrong. Given the choice, it's a place I'd rather avoid" What he didn't add was the odd sensation he received every time he travelled there – an tingling at the base of his spine and a pressure in his forehead, a sourness in the air that spoke of old magic, dark magic.

Not to mention the presence of the Crystal Cave. The magic there didn't feel dark exactly, it wasn't corrupted like the rest of the Valley, but the sheer quantity of magical energy in that place was overwhelming – and the memory of the terrible power the crystals held still sent shudders down his spine. It wasn't exactly a place he was in a hurry to visit again.

Although he had a horrible feeling that this time he might not have a choice.

"Then we had better hurry. The horses are rested enough – we should go."

* * *

It was late afternoon when they finally rode into the Valley, the pale autumn sunlight falling on the ancient statues that towered over the southern-most entrance to the valley. The stern faces of the ancient kings glared down upon the travellers, their intimidating glares discouraging entry onto their sacred turf. Even from here Merlin could feel the sharp tang of magic in the air, the foulness that permeated the valley and spoke of an ancient curse.

The horses shuffled beneath them, their restlessness speaking of their own uncertainty about the valley – the simple minds of the animals sensing that which most humans chose to ignore. Their nervousness suited Merlin's mood perfectly – he was torn between his need to discover what had befallen Arthur and his unwillingness to ever enter the valley again.

"Well, Merlin, there's still a few hours until sundown. What do you say we do?" Gwaine's voice betrayed his own anxiety – while the knight might not be able to sense the power in the valley himself, he was certainly observant enough to notice the discomfort of his companions.

"We need to be out of there by nightfall – I don't want to be caught in the valley after dark. If I'm right, Arthur and his men will only have tried to use the valley as a shortcut – they probably won't have tried to travel the whole length, just come in part way down." He glanced at the position of the sun, his mind racing to decide on the best plan. "If we ride in for maybe an hour, see what we can find, then try to get out before sundown? We'll spend the night back here, and continue looking in the morning."

* * *

It would have been a hard enough task trying to find any signs of the knights' passage three or four days after the event, Merlin reflected disconsolately the following day, even without the weather acting against them. Pulling his sodden boot out of a clinging angle deep mud puddle for what felt like the fiftieth time, only to stumble against a tree root and decorate his trousers with yet another damp splatter of mud up to his waist, the warlock struggled to keep up with Gwaine. Despite being several times heavier than Merlin in his steel chainmail, the knight seemed to be having little trouble with the treacherous conditions underfoot – at least, if he was having any difficulty forcing his way along the boggy path, he wasn't showing it.

It had rained again the previous night, a sudden downpour that had started in the early hours of the morning and continued on until well past dawn. Having packed the bags in something of a hurry, and being unwilling to carry anything too burdensome in their packs, the travellers had found themselves without the oiled animal skins that would normally have been used to provide shelter on patrols. The two men had had to make do with pressing their backs against a large oak that was in the process of losing most of its leaves, and try to catch what sleep they could among the intermittent rain drops that made their way through the depleted canopy. In the end they had given up trying sleep earlier than they had planned, and entered the Valley the minute enough light had made it through the thick cloud layer to make torches unnecessary.

In the half-light before dawn, leading their horses on foot, shivering with cold and with rain water pouring down their faces and backs (any waterproofing provided by their clothes long since rendered useless), they had begun their search.

The previous evening's hunt had been unsuccessful, not that Merlin had really been expecting much at that point. The Valley was a good six or seven hours ride from end to end, and they had only had time to properly search the most southern extremity – and even then, the increasing darkness and light drizzle had limited their visibility such that, even if the King had passed that way with the patrol, any signs had been missed by the searchers.

With their earlier start, the two men hoped to be able to travel deeper into the Vale in search of their missing friends. The only problem was the heavy rain – the deluge had turned the already damp ground into rivers of mud, and the leaves that had been brought down by the force of the rain had coated the forest floor to the extent that any tracks were long since gone. Gwaine, the more experienced tracker of the two, had been trying to identify any signs of forced passage in the bushes and twigs that lined the narrow track, but even he couldn't be sure that any signs he found were the work of knights or simply wild animals.

No, the only clue Merlin had to work with so far was his vision of the Crystal Cave – and he had spent the past hour trying to subtly lead the knight in that direction. Given that the track they were following led in that direction anyway, toward the centre of the Valley, it hadn't required much effort on his part.

It wasn't until shortly after noon that they got their first concrete evidence that Arthur and his knights had indeed passed this way – and what they discovered was discouraging.

They had stopped briefly while Gwaine tried to decide if a small path he had spotted in the undergrowth had been made by anything larger than a deer, when one of the horses had started whickering and pulling gently on its lead. While Merlin tried to calm it the other horse had started up too – and then, unexpectedly, the sound of a horse's whinny had broken through the quiet of the forest, coming from somewhere to the left of the path. Gwaine and Merlin had barely stopped to glance at each other before forcing their way through the bushes in the direction of the sound.

"Well, Merlin, seems you were right." Gwaine's voice was grim as he stared at the sight that met them only a few metres beyond the edge of the path.

The six horses tethered at the edge of the small clearing were clearly what had attracted the attention of their own animals. The beasts were huddled together for warmth beneath one of the larger trees, shivering and clearly terrified where they had been abandoned by their masters. Merlin immediately recognised Arthur's horse, Hengroen, among them – and he had spent enough time mucking out the stables and feeding the animals on patrol to recognise the rest of the knights horses too. Their food bags were empty, and it was clear that the animals had taken to rooting through the forgotten packs that lay closest to them on the ground in their search for anything edible.

The lost horses were not the most terrifying aspect of the clearing, however. The small hollow beyond the bushes had clearly been the patrol's campsite, and it was obvious that it had been abandoned in a hurry – packs were lying open, abandoned at various points in the clearing, and a number of objects were strewn across the open space as if something had thrown them about in a rage.

"Elyan's" Merlin stated, walking over to the sword that had been left point down in the ground near the centre of the clearing. "I've sharpened enough of your swords to recognise them on sight" he replied to Gwaine's questioning glance.

The knight picked up an abandoned pot of stew that had been left beside the remains of the campfire, and gave it a quick sniff before wrinkling his nose in disgust. "Been a few days I reckon; there's insects swimming in it." He tipped the pot upside down, a large river of water preceding the congealed stew onto the ground. Tapping the now empty pot speculatively, the knight stared at the burnt base in disgust. "Whoever made this couldn't cook – I suspect Arthur. What do you think happened here?"

"No idea. Look, you check for tracks, see if you can find which way they went while I see to the horses."

Leaving Gwaine to do a circuit of the abandoned clearing, Merlin approached the frightened horses slowly. The poor animals had clearly been alone for several days, and the sinister air of the valley had not done them any favours – the beasts shuffled nervously as he approached, and it was obvious that the reigns attached to the branches of the tree were the only things that kept them from bolting. It was something of a miracle that the tethered horses had not been bothered by larger, more ferocious animals over the past days; although their wide eyes suggested that there may have been some near misses.

Thankfully, Merlin had always had a way with animals – he had, after all, been a farm boy before his arrival in Camelot, giving him an experience working with animals that very few knights possessed (even if those animals had predominately been plough horses and old man Simmons' pigs). It helped that most of these horses recognised him from patrols with the knights, associating him with the provision of food and company on long journeys – with the help of a little soothing magic whispered under his breath, he was soon able to calm the horses enough that they no longer looked ready to flee at his approach.

Finding food for them, however, proved to be more complicated. A quick search of the absent knights' packs yielded nothing: any food had either long since soaked through, or, in the case of a couple of packs left close to the horses, already been devoured. In the end, Merlin had to resort to using some of the food he had brought for his and Gwaine's horses, rationing it sparely between the eight beasts – he had to hope that the animals would be able to make do with grazing after that, as he had no idea how much longer he and Gwaine would be staying in the Valley.

For that matter, he wasn't entirely sure how, between only the two of them, they were going to get eight horses back to Camelot. It wasn't looking likely that the six missing men would turn up any time soon.

"Found anything?" he called, a rustle in the bushes alerting him to Gwaine's return from beyond the edge of the clearing. The knight reappeared from the gloom of the trees, a frown on his face betraying his confusion.

"I think so" Gwaine replied slowly, his face still twisted in thought. "There's a track through these bushes, see these broken branches? It heads north-east, almost in a straight line – like they were in a hurry to get somewhere. But I don't understand, why would they just leave the camp like this? All of them, just gone, it doesn't make any sense!"

"We'll follow it. Maybe it will lead us to them." Merlin tried to sound optimistic, when he was really anything but.

He knew what lay to the north-east.

* * *

"This brings back memories, eh?" Gwaine's quiet voice caused Merlin to jump slightly – the knight's eyes were closed and he was leaning back against the roots of a tree, up until this moment Merlin had believed he was asleep. "You and me off on a quest to find Arthur, who's gotten himself lost in some magical land. Just like old times!"

Merlin only grunted in response, too drained to really offer anything more to the conversation.

Two nights with little sleep had left Merlin feeling tired and somewhat waspish – it wasn't the first time he had had to make do with such little rest, the experiences of the past few years had left him sadly familiar with this kind of situation, but that didn't mean he was comfortable with it. Gwaine's more relaxed state only served to highlight Merlin's tiredness and anxiety further – he couldn't understand how the knight could remain so calm in this situation.

The warlock could only force his eyes to remain glued to the rock face before them, and hope that something would change soon.

They had followed the trail to this place from the deserted campsite, Gwaine using broken branches (and, quite honestly, a large amount of guesswork, assumption and luck) to lead them here. The horses had been left behind, as they would only slow them down on foot, but Merlin had muttered a subtle enchantment before they left to keep them safe – they had been lucky so far, but there was no harm in a little extra protection.

The journey to this dead-end had been short, no more than an hour of pushing through sodden undergrowth and tramping through bog before they reached the cliff face that marked the end of the trail. Merlin, of course, had recognised the little hollow immediately – he had been here once before, brought here from Arthur's unconscious side by the ancient seer Taliesin. Of course, on his last visit there had been an opening in the wall of the cliff, leading to the Crystal Cave. Merlin didn't know whether to be relieved or alarmed to note that no such entrance existed on this occasion; instead the two men were faced with a bare wall of rock, moss and ferns growing from between the cracks and nothing to suggest that barely three years ago this solid wall of stone had been the entrance to a cave.

Nothing, that is, except the footprints.

A single set of prints led straight out of the blank rock face to disappear into the bushes, to the left of where Merlin and Gwaine had emerged from the forest. A second set of the prints, to all appearances belonging to the same person, reappeared from the woods a little further away, only to vanish once again into the blank wall.

"Still new" Gwaine had announced earlier after approaching the tracks. "Can't be more than a few hours old, at most. Question is, who made them and where did they go?"

"Whoever it was, they could still be here – we don't know whether the first tracks or the ones leading away from the cliff or into it." Merlin hadn't thought for long before making the decision. "We should wait here, see if anything happens. If the person who made these tracks is nearby, they might know what happened to the King." Gwaine had made to protest, but once again Merlin had put his foot down. "We wait."

And so it was that several hours later they were still sat in this little hollow, staring at an unresponsive wall in the faint hope that _something_ might happen – anything that could explain the disappearance of Arthur and five of his best knights. The intermittent drizzle and cold air did little to improve their flagging spirits, although at least in this dell they were sheltered from the bitter wind, but still the two men sat patiently in their hope for answers.

But when, finally, the entrance to the Crystal Cave opened many hours later at dusk, the man who emerged from its depths wasn't exactly the man who Merlin had hoped, or expected, to see.

**A/N: Well this is awkward… Sorry I didn't get a chapter up last weekend, I know I said I would. Both foreseen and unforeseen events conspired against me – lets just say that this hasn't been a happy week, and leave it at that. (I did intend to finish and publish it last night, but I was just too emotionally taumatised after Doctor Who...)  
**

**Anyway, thanks once again for all the lovely reviews! There was one guest review I really wanted to reply to but couldn't, so I'll address it here.  
**

**Jacqs: You had a good point about Arthur's choice to leave Gwen in charge rather than Merlin – I agree that, from our perspective, Merlin is probably better equipped than Gwen at this stage for that kind of responsibility. However, I'll try and explain Arthur's reasoning as best I can… Gwen is Arthur's queen – she may have once been a servant, but its been several months now since she was crowned, so she will have gained some experience (and tutelage) in that time to help her rule. She has already proven on previous occasions that she is wise and truly cares about the kingdom, and in the future when Arthur rides off to war (or whatever) it will be her duty as queen to lead the kingdom in his absence – as far as Arthur was concerned, he was only going to be away for a week or so, so this was a great chance for Gwen to really take the reigns and see how she would cope over a longer period. And he hasn't exactly left her unsupervised: she has Sir Leon and Merlin to guide her, so she won't be making decisions alone.**

**Merlin, on the other hand, is still only Arthur's servant. No matter how wise or capable he may be, Arthur can't be seen to be leaving him in charge – he wouldn't exactly command the respect of the council in his current position (unlike Gwen, who, no matter her previous status, now outranks them – they may not like it, but that's how it is). And, of course, Arthur's always been a little blind when it comes to Merlin – he may ask him for advice, and rely on him for support and guidance, but I don't think he realises just how much Merlin is really capable of. Until Lamia, he probably hadn't even considered that Merlin could really hold any responsibility beyond that of a servant: whether because Merlin has deliberately hidden that part of himself from Arthur, or just because Arthur refuses to see it and be forced to change their relationship. In Arthur's eyes, Merlin is still the "idiotic" servant – doing the paperwork (which is a pretty big responsibility in itself) is as far as he's willing to push it for now.**

**But it was a good question – and it will be important later on! Sorry for the long explanation, hope it makes sense…**

**Anyway, constructive criticism is always welcome!  
**


	10. The Cave

**Chapter 10 – the Cave**

As evening fell, the last rays of sunlight breaking through the clouds and casting a ghostly orange hue on the overcast sky, Merlin began to feel a shift in the magic of the clearing, where he sat patiently in wait with Gwaine. The change was subtle at first, a slight build in pressure at the top of his spine and a gentle itch in his palms – if he hadn't been so on edge and attuned to the power of the Valley he might not have noticed it, so faint was the feeling. As it was, the slight warning from his magical senses was enough to put him on alert – he immediately sat up straighter and began to take more careful note of his surroundings.

Sure enough, mere seconds later a distant rumbling split the air, the sound as if of a rock fall in the distance – loud enough that Sir Gwaine, who had up until this moment been snoring gently from his perch between the roots of an Elder tree, started to wakefulness and grabbed his sword. Then, in the deep blue shadows of the cliff, where Merlin had fixed his eyes so intently, there was a change.

Later, neither man was able to fully describe exactly what they saw. If asked, they would simply have tried to explain that one minute they were staring at an ancient cliff face, moss and lichen growing between the cracks speaking of its age, and the next moment the shadows had shifted to reveal an opening in the wall – one that had _always been there._ It was like the revelation of an illusion, where the viewer's perception suddenly changes so that one image suddenly becomes another, the lines of the picture rearranging themselves into a new image without actually appearing to change. The best way Merlin could describe it was to use an example from one of Gaius' old books, a drawing he had once seen of an ancient crone that had suddenly shifted before his eyes into a beautiful young woman.

For a brief moment both men stared enthralled at the sight before them in a mixture of bemusement and wonder, until a loud curse from Gwaine broke the spell.

"Magic!" Gwaine's sword was unsheathed now, the knight jumping up and crouching into a fighting stance a few steps ahead of Merlin. "Stay behind me – anything could be-"

"Shh!" Merlin cut in sharply, pacing forward himself and placing his hand on the knight's shoulder to silence him. "Something's coming!"

Footsteps could be heard, the gentle rattling of stones underfoot echoing abnormally loudly out of the entrance to the cave. Nothing could be seen yet, the shadows too deep in the late evening light to make out a figure in the darkness of the cave, but whoever or whatever it was seemed to be getting closer, the reverberation of their footsteps growing louder as Merlin and Gwaine waited in apprehensive silence.

Thoughts raced through Merlin's head, the adrenaline causing his brain to work overtime as theories and speculations were formulated, tested and eliminated, the identity of the unknown owner of the footsteps questioned frantically.

Two theories stood out in his mind.

The first was Arthur. Merlin had had that vision of him in the Crystal Cave, after all, and there was no doubt that this was the entrance to said cave – Merlin had been here himself, he remembered what it looked like. All the evidence seemed to suggest that Arthur, at least, had gotten himself trapped in this place, so maybe this was the Cave releasing him? But, if that was the case, why was there a set of footprints from earlier that day leading both towards and away from the Cave? And what had happened to the rest of the patrol?

More importantly, if this was Arthur approaching, why was the Cave only releasing him now?

Merlin's second guess was a little more tenuous, but then he didn't really have a lot of evidence to work with. The last time the warlock had visited the cave, he had been led here by the mysterious Taliesin – perhaps this was that same old man again? True, he hadn't seen the prophet since he entered the Cave on the last occasion, the ancient seer disappearing sometime during his ordeal with the visions, but there was no reason why he might not appear here again… True, Gaius did claim that the old man had actually lived some three hundred years ago, and logic dictated that in that case surely he must be long dead by now – but then, that didn't appear to have stopped him last time! Maybe he was returning to dispense some more riddles and leave Merlin in some confusing, morally ambiguous situation again…

As it turned out, neither guess was correct.

The familiar lanky figure that finally emerged from the cave was revealed in the half-light of dusk, sandy hair dishevelled and stubble on his chin. He had removed his chain mail, instead wearing only the padded red tunic and breeches the knights wore under their armour, and as he strode clear of the entrance he stopped and stood surveying the darkened clearing with his usual wry gaze.

"Tristan!" Merlin's delighted shout seemed unnaturally loud in the hush of the Valley, but he didn't care. The cynical knight might not have been the King he had set out to find, but he was still a friend and Merlin was relieved to see him safe – and, besides, here at last was someone who might have some answers to their questions about the fate of the patrol. "Tristan, you're alright!"

Merlin jogged across the clearing towards the newest of Arthur's knights, followed by a somewhat less enthusiastic Sir Gwaine. The animosity between these two knights had become something of a castle legend in the months since Tristan's elevation to Arthur's inner circle, and although Merlin knew that Gwaine was relieved to see the other knight alive, it was clear he wasn't so keen on actually greeting the man.

"Where are the others?" he queried shortly, any relief he might have felt at seeing Tristan alive masked by the sharp unfriendly tone in which he asked the question.

However, Tristan didn't acknowledge Gwaine's unwelcoming tone – in fact, as the two men got closer, he didn't seem to respond to their approach at all. He stayed where he was, stretching his limbs and breathing the deep breaths of a man who has been caged rejoicing in the clean air of freedom – he didn't seem to be aware of his company in the clearing, not even noticing when Merlin came to a sudden halt directly before him.

"Um… Tristan? Hello?" as the knight continued to ignore Merlin, the warlock started to reach out to him – only to encounter a sudden solid barrier that not only prevented him from touching the knight, but also sent a painful jolt all the way along his extended arm from fingertip to shoulder.

"Merlin! You alright mate?" Gwaine reached out to steady him, his distrustful gaze fixed upon the oblivious knight while Merlin cradled his throbbing arm against his chest and wrinkled his brow in thought. The burst of magic that had assaulted him was a powerful one, and it left him feeling a little faint, but at least in coming in contact with the sorcery he had been able to identify the nature of the spell that held Tristan captive.

"Yes, I'm fine… fine!" he quickly reassured the hovering Gwaine. "Its… I think he's enchanted, Gwaine. He has no idea we're here, and there's something stopping us from reaching out to him – whoever did this doesn't want us talking to him."

"You think whoever did this is in that Cave?" Gwaine stared suspiciously at the dark tunnel that led into the cliff face, as if expecting some spell-flinging sorcerer to appear any minute. "And what about the rest of the patrol, they in there too? Should we go in?" He was already unsheathing his sword, and looked set to charge into the darkness the minute Merlin gave the word.

"Hm, maybe… but we should probably follow _him_ first…" while they had been speaking, Tristan had started striding away and was already nearing the edge of the clearing, about to vanish into the bushes in the direction of the footprints from that morning. "Come on, Gwaine, we can explore the Cave later – we need to find out where Tristan's going, it might be important." Truth be told, Merlin was in no hurry to charge into the Crystal Cave – so long as there was any other option, he would take it.

Unfortunately, their pursuit of Tristan yielded no answers. No more than five minutes into the forest the knight came to an abrupt halt, bending down and reaching under a nearby bush – after a short moment of scuffling he pulled a small trap free from between the roots, one that had a couple of rabbits caught in it.

The three men stared at Tristan's catch, Merlin and Gwaine in shock and Tristan with some kind of resigned amusement on his face.

Merlin had set many traps for small animals in his time, he had learnt to build them when he was very young to provide meat for the table when he lived in Ealdor, but never before had he seen a trap that yielded rabbits which were not only dead, but also _skinned _and _cooked._ The meat was even still warm, a thin cloud of steam rising from the offerings as if they had only just been removed from the fire, the smell of freshly cooked food permeating the air and causing Merlin's mouth to water and stomach to rumble.

With a small huff of amusement, Tristan removed his ready made meal from the trap, resetting it and placing it once again beneath the bush. Then, still blind to his bewildered companions, he turned around once again and strode back the way he had come.

* * *

The early hours of the following morning found Merlin once again sitting in the clearing, his eyes fixed on the impassive cliff face that hid the entrance to the Crystal Cave.

He and Gwaine had trailed Tristan back to the clearing, and when the knight had once again entered the Cave the two men had silently decided that they had no choice on this occasion but to follow. However, when they had approached the tunnel themselves and attempted to enter something had forced them back, a sudden burst of power that had left Merlin gasping for air and Gwaine, who had rushed ahead of the warlock, lying on his backside with an astonished look on his face. They had been left to watch helplessly as the rock face shifted once again behind the older knight, powerless to follow or prevent his passage, as the entrance was once again lost to them.

After a… _significant…_ period of time spent battering pointlessly at the solid cliff face, calling for Tristan (or _anyone_) and desperately trying to find the opening that they knew was there, Merlin and Gwaine had eventually accepted that the cave would only open again in its own time. Rather than waste their energy on an activity they knew was futile, they had instead chosen to keep watch and wait until the entrance returned again, as they were certain it would – only then, would they act.

Exactly what they thought waiting for the cave to open would achieve, when their previous experience suggested that even then they wouldn't be able to enter it, Merlin wasn't sure. Neither of them wanted to return to the Queen, however, forced to explain that they had found one of the missing knights and not investigated further. They had to try, at least.

And Merlin had his own reasons for wanting to wait here a little longer.

Now, in the dark hours of the very early morning, it was time to put his own plan into action. Gwaine, having taken the first watch earlier that night, was now sound asleep, and dawn was still many hours away – long enough, Merlin hoped, for him to freely use his powers and break the enchantment that concealed the entrance to the Crystal Cave.

Approaching the rock face, Merlin closed his eyes and rested the palm of his hand against the damp stone. He summoned his power, and concentrated on the cliff before him.

"Ætýne"

Nothing. The rocks before him didn't so much as twitch. Frowning, Merlin pressed his hand harder against the stone, summoning more power.

"Onhlíd!"

This time the power he channelled rebounded from the rock, striking him and forcing him back a few steps. Clutching his chest, he took a few deep breaths and looked more speculatively at the stone that blocked his way.

Clearly, power alone wasn't going to work.

Returning to his spot before the cliff, he placed both hands this time upon the clammy surface. Focusing his magic, he pushed it gently towards the rock, sending strands of it scurrying across the rugged surface to find a break in the enchantment that held the entrance closed. He could feel his power meet that of the spell, poking and tugging at it to find a weakness, a fault he could exploit.

_There._ Something… a warp in the pattern…

Closing his eyes, he rested his head against the stone, concentrating. He sent more power into the cliff, directing it towards that fault – that thread in the tapestry that wasn't quite as it should be.

"_Ic __ábíede __þæs cleofan instæpe __ætíe_"

The spell was no more than a whisper, but he felt his magic take hold. It tugged at that one thread, unravelling it, and suddenly he felt the whole enchantment break.

Opening his eyes, he stepped back.

There it was, the entrance to the Crystal Cave.

Breathing deeply, trying to steady his racing heart, he took note of his surroundings. He must have spent more time than he realised breaking the spell, because already the clearing was lighter than it had been when he began – he could make out the shapes of bushes between the trees, where before he could see only darkness. He felt a stiffness in his neck and shoulders, and his hands, which had been pressed hard against the rock wall, were frozen.

Judging by the grey light that permeated the small hollow, it must only have been a few hours before dawn. Thankfully, Gwaine was still asleep – but Merlin had already wasted too much time.

Steeling himself, he straightened his back, took a deep breath, and entered the Cave.

Almost straight away, he began to feel the magic in the air around him increase – the power of the Cave calling to him, its siren song enticing him as it had done the last time he entered this hallowed place. Blocking his mind resolutely against the beckoning power, he closed off his magical senses – maybe, if he ignored the sorcery of the place, he would escape the temptation of the crystals…

In the darkness of the tunnel, the faint blue glow that lit the far end of the passageway was like a beacon. Using his hands on the walls to feel his way, he slowly approached the distant light, gritting his teeth against the insistent buzzing at the base of his skull. Slowly the light got nearer, and he was able to make out the exit to the tunnel, outlined sharply against the ghostly glow.

Just before he entered the cave proper, however, he was hit by his doubts once more. He wanted to find his friends, of course he did, but there was no telling what would happen if he so much as glanced at a crystal – the last thing he wanted was a repeat of his last visit. He had learnt the hard way that seeing the future was no gift, foreknowledge caused far more problems than it solved, and he had enough to deal with in this situation without the added complications the power of the crystals could bring.

No, best to be safe.

Placing both his hands firmly against the wall, he screwed his eyes shut and made the final step into the Crystal Cave.

As had happened last time, he was immediately confronted with the powerful call of the crystals. Even with his eyes shut, he could feel them beckoning to him, trying to tempt him to look into their depths – Merlin tried not to react, just willed his eyes to remain closed and attempted to ignore their song, groping his way further into the heart of the Cave.

Almost straight away, he realised the obvious flaw in his plan. And, he wasn't the only one.

"Tell me, young Emrys, how exactly do you intend to rescue your friends if you cannot see where they are?"

Jumping, Merlin span round to face the direction from which the elderly voice had come – remembering at the last moment to keep his eyes closed, the intense blue glow still shining through his eyelids.

"Taliesin! What have you done to my friends?"

"Do not fear, Emrys" Taliesin's voice came closer, the only indication that the old man was approaching – even in the silence of the Cave, no footsteps could be heard. "Your friends are quite safe – if you would open your eyes, you would see."

"Nu-uh, no" Merlin shook his head. "I'm not falling for that trick – I've seen the power of the crystals, and, believe me, I want no more part in it. Now, tell me where they are!"

"What you want is irrelevant, Emrys. You are one of the few with the power to wield the crystals of this Cave, and until you embrace that gift you cannot become who you were meant to be! But that is not why we are here today – you have come for your friends, as I knew you would. They are here. Please, open your eyes, and see."

For a moment, Merlin felt his resolution crack and let his eyes begin to inch open – only to force them shut again the minute he saw the blue half-light of the Cave between his lashes.

"No!" he pushed himself back against the wall, reaching out one hand to feel his way away from the ancient seer. "No, I know what lies down that route. I will find my friends, with or without your help, but I refuse to be used as a pawn of the crystals!"

"You are behaving like a child, Emrys!" For the first time, the prophet sounded frustrated. "You cannot hope to fulfil your destiny if you refuse to face it! Open your eyes – it may be that the Crystals have no message for you today."

Merlin snorted. He didn't believe that for a second – he could feel the crystals in his mind, feel them calling. The Cave had a message for him, of that he was certain – but he was still certain that, whatever the message, he was best not knowing it.

"The crystals are tools, Emrys. With power like ours, we can wield them, bend them to our own will. You may be young, Emrys, and untrained, but your power is great – if you do not wish to see what the crystals have to show you, then use that power. You can feel the magic of the Cave, can you not? Do not fight it – wield it, bend it to your will! When you passed my test and broke the enchantment to enter this Cave you demonstrated what you are capable of, you simply have to take what you learnt further."

Despite himself, Merlin found himself listening to the ancient prophet. He did need to find the patrol, and he knew that Tristan, at least, was within this Cave somewhere – and, no matter how hard he tried, Merlin knew that he had the best chance of finding the knights if he could see. Crashing about like a blind man wasn't really a solution.

Sighing, he released his magic once again, removing the barrier that had been blocking the magic of the Cave from his senses. For a brief moment he was overwhelmed, the sheer flood of power almost drowning him as he tried to fight against it – until he remembered the words of Taliesin. Lowering his defences he welcomed the magic into his mind, and instead of pushing it he began to grab it, drawing it to himself and slowly bringing it under his control.

It was a struggle, the raw power of the Cave far greater than most magic he was used to encountering – but, of course, Merlin's magic wasn't exactly weak either, and if anyone could handle power of this magnitude, he could. He could feel Taliesin working alongside him, the mage whispering the Old Tongue in his ear, guiding him, and slowly he felt his control of the Cave's sorcery taking hold.

"Good" Taliesin's raised voice brought Merlin out of his trance. "That is well enough for now, Emrys – I think you can open your eyes without fear. The crystals will not show you what you do not wish to see. In time, I think, you will be able to master fully the magic of this Cave – but for today, you have learnt enough."

Slowly, with a great deal of trepidation, Merlin opened his eyes. The crystals around him still pulsed with light, and the power of the Cave still sang to him, but he was relieved to note that the pull of the Crystals had gone – or, rather, he was able to resist it. So long as he did not stare too closely at any one crystal, he was able to ignore the images that danced across their surfaces.

However, any triumph he might have felt in his victory over the Cave was immediately eclipsed by the sight that met him in the centre of the cavern. Four of the missing knights from the patrol were standing there in a circle, their gazes fixed on a great jewel that hung between them – Sir Elyan, Sir Percival, Sir Lamorak and Sir Gareth, faces completely blank, and bodies so still they might have been made of crystal themselves.

"What have you done to them?" Merlin looked to Taliesin accusingly, though he made no move to approach the dormant knights – he had a feeling there was little he could do for them here "And… where's Arthur? And Tristan?"

"The knights are merely sleeping – they will awaken once Arthur returns" Taliesin's voice was calm, as he looked down upon his captives almost fondly. "They will be none the worse for wear when they awaken, that I promise"

"Once… Arthur returns. Why? Where is he?"

"He is on a quest, to a place where you cannot follow. He will return in time, though even I cannot predict exactly when."

"A quest." Merlin's voice was flat, disbelief and anxiety warring in his mind. "Is it dangerous? And, why can't I follow?"

Taliesin chuckled gently. "Dangerous? I should say so! He has travelled to another world, one where magic was never banned – there will be many perils there, of that I am certain. But fear not, he won't be alone – already he has made one ally in that place, and no doubt others will follow shortly. Your King has a way of inspiring loyalty in those who meet him."

"Or betrayal…" Merlin added wryly, before he could stop himself. "But… another world? How is that even possible? And again, why can't I go there too?"

"Many things are possible, Emrys, as you yourself should know. And you cannot travel there, because you are _already_ there – you exist in that world, much as you exist in this one. No man can be in the same place twice."

"I see…" Merlin rubbed his face tiredly, not really in the mood to question further. "So, Arthur has been sent off to some sort of parallel world, one with magic, and you've no idea when he'll return. Once he does, you'll release the knights, and that will be that. Have I got that right?" Taliesin nodded quietly. "Right. So, next question. Why?"

"Because Arthur has much to learn, and he must learn it soon. Great trials approach Albion, and he must be ready – you must _both_ be ready."

"Both? What are you talking about?" Merlin had a nasty suspicion he knew where this was going – he had been in similar situations before. Any minute now he was going to be handed some near impossible task, all in the name of _destiny_, and asked to go off and complete it alone.

Great.

"The King of Gwynedd is dying."

"Um…" _what?_ What did that have to do with anything?

"Gwynedd is the last stronghold in Wales that holds free of the usurper, Vortigern – I believe you know this?"

Well, yes, Merlin did – it was in the files that he had been studying for Arthur. Camelot had been working towards strengthening their alliance with the Welsh king for some months; an ally that powerful could only be a good thing for Camelot, in the King's opinion.

"Right… Where are we going with this?"

"Should Gwynedd fall to Vortigern, the usurper will become the undisputed King of Wales – his kingdom will rival Camelot in both strength and power, but his conquest will not end there. Vortigern is ambitious and power-hungry – for now he is kept busy by Gwynned, but should his campaign in Wales end successfully there can be no doubt that he will next turn his eyes towards the Five Kingdoms. Towards Camelot."

_Oh._

"The treaty you attempt to forge with the usurper will not hold – and if the situation in Wales is not dealt with, war will soon arrive at your doorstep. You are the only man with the power to prevent this – only you can halt the fall of Gwynedd, and restore peace to those lands."

"Me? Why me?" He asked, resignedly.

_Why could it not be someone else for once_?

Wisely, he chose to leave that last thought unsaid.

"Because you are Emrys. And because the land of Wales means far more to you than you yet realise. Now" and here Taliesin's demeanour changed, his tone becoming abruptly more businesslike. "I believe it is time I returned a friend to you. Come!"

And, striding away from Merlin with deceptive speed, the old man reached the far side of the Cave and disappeared around a corner – reappearing only moments later with a familiar knight in tow.

"Merlin!" the astonishment in Tristan's voice was clear. "Merlin – what are you doing here?"

"He came looking for you, brave knight, you and your companions. The others must remain here for now, but you, I think, can return home."

"What… why now?" Merlin was confused – Tristan appeared to have escaped the enchantment that held his fellows in thrall, and yet Taliesin had kept him in the Cave until now for some purpose. What had changed?

"I needed to speak to you, Merlin. I knew you would come in search of your King – I could not take the risk that Tristan here would intercept you."

"You mean to tell me, you've been keeping me here all this time as bait?" the knight sounded somewhat indignant at this, as Merlin supposed he had a right to.

"Indeed! Though I fed you and made your stay comfortable, did I not? And now it is time for you to leave." Now that he had completed what he set out to do, the ancient seer seemed almost desperate to get rid of his guests – he pushed a bundle of armour and weaponry into Tristan's arms and began to shoo them towards the exit. "I believe Camelot has been without your skills for too long – it is time the two of you returned home!"

And so the old man ushered them through the Cave – but nor before Merlin caught a quick glance at one of the Crystals. There, in the heart of the stone, he saw an image of a man; middle aged, with flaming red hair and beard streaked with grey, the man sat upon a great black horse. He wore a heavily embroidered green cloak, and an enormous sword was strapped to his waist.

Before Merlin had a chance to look further, however, the ancient seer had pushed the two men into the passageway that led towards the exit. When they turned around, he was gone.

"Well!" Tristan shook his head, a small smile on his face. "That was… interesting." And, turning a sharp eye towards his companion, he fixed Merlin with a calculating glare. "What I really want to know though, Merlin, is what exactly did Taliesin want with you? And how did you get into the Cave?"

"Yes, Merlin. That's something I'd like to know the answer to, too!"

And, turning around in the narrow passageway, Merlin found himself facing a very angry Sir Gwaine.

**A/N: Hello again! So, three chapter attention span - I swear I don't do it on purpose! (I also apologise for butchering Old English. But thats another story!)**

**Anyway, thankou for all the reviews and favourites from the last chapter - I'm really happy people are enjoying my story :) The next chapter will be back to Arthur, I promise.  
**


	11. Guard

**Chapter 11 - Guard**

"And forward – attack! And hold! _Steady_ Griflet, feet apart spear point _higher_! Better. And back! Rank two, forward!"

The dawn sunshine was shining down on Camelot, the autumn light illuminating the white walls of the citadel and making it gleam against the pale blue sky like a jewel – looking up at the castle from where he stood at the far edge of the city, Arthur could think of no more beautiful sight. The clouds had finally cleared, the constant rain and drizzle of the past weeks giving way to clear skies and weak sunshine, a bout of warmer weather before winter set in for good. At this early hour, however, the sun had yet to warm the day and Arthur could see his breath fogging the frozen air before him; there was just a hint of frost on the grass, reminding him of how bitterly cold it had been the night before.

Pulling himself out of bed that morning had been difficult, leaving the warm fire in the common room of the inn even harder, but he had exercised years of discipline and forced himself to do just that.

He had made a decision, and it was time to follow it through.

It was time to start taking control of events again. The confusion of the past few days had pushed Arthur onto a back foot – so many bewildering, seemingly impossible events in such a short space of time had left him reeling, all control of the situation lost. Taliesin, the Cave, _magic_ in Camelot – his _Mother_! It had all been bewildering, overwhelming, and he had been left with no other option but to react blindly to the influences of the people and places around him.

Needless to say, this was not something that the King of Camelot was comfortable with.

Arthur liked to be in control – he always had. It came from being the Prince of a powerful Kingdom, answerable to no-one but his Father for most of his life. Being at the mercy of a foreign power, of magic, was definitely not within his comfort zone.

The problem was that he had always been an emotional man. As much as Arthur tried to deny it, more than once his decisions as a King had been ruled by what his heart believed to be right, often against the advice of his head – and, to be honest, he had come to see this as something of a strength, basing his rule upon his love for his people, rather than the cold logic of his father.

On this occasion, however, being ruled by his emotions was clearly a weakness. He had been something of a wreck after seeing Ygraine in the streets of the city, emotionally exhausted and out of his depth. He had returned to the lower town that evening, rented himself a room at the Rising Sun, and spent the remainder of the day alone with his thoughts.

The following days had been better. He had taken the opportunity to walk the streets of Camelot, familiarising himself with the differences within the city – the blatant poverty in the lower town, the visible presence of the guards… the little signs of magic dotted here and there about the town…

He had had time to think, to plan, and had used the time to his advantage. He might not have had all the facts, but at least now he no longer felt as if he was at the mercy of Taliesin's scheme – he had to have faith that sooner or later his 'quest' would become clear to him, but he couldn't afford to just sit and wait for that time to come. Doing nothing would not make his path any clearer. By taking action himself, making his own decisions, at least he could ensure that he had some measure of control over the situation – or at least the illusion of it.

He had made his choice. And for the first time since arriving in this new world, he no longer felt lost.

The guards' training ground was a far cry from the one used by the knights. It lay just beyond the walls of the city, nothing more than a large fenced-off square of dirt, with a loose sprinkling of sand and straw the only barrier between marching feet and mud. A narrow path led from the training field to the walls of the city, where a narrow gate marked the entrance to the barracks – a collection of long low buildings directly within the boundaries of the city that housed most of the men of the guard.

It was just beneath the arch of this gate that Arthur stood, watching the men training on the field below.

He had never had much to do with the guard in the past. He had visited the barracks and training field before, of course – he used to come here to inspect the guard once or twice a year as part of his duty as prince, and in more recent years had taken to speaking to the men to motivate them and congratulate them on their performance in the wars. However, as the leader of the knights, most of his time and energy had been spent on the training grounds closer to the castle, with the men who sought to become the elite core of Camelot's fighting force. The training and provision of the guards had fallen under the care of older knights, most recently Sir Brennis, and Arthur's involvement rarely extended beyond reading and signing a few reports.

Watching the men now, Arthur couldn't help but idly wonder whether he should perhaps have taken a bit more interest in their training. Besides their duties within the city, as watchmen and keepers of the peace, the guards alongside the knights formed the closest thing Camelot had to a standing army. In times of war, peasants recruited from within the city and surrounding villages helped create the bulk of the army, but it was the guards who were really relied upon to act as soldiers. The knights of Camelot might be the greatest knights of any of the five kingdoms, but without the guards the city would still be vulnerable – they were vital for the wellbeing of the realm.

Arthur had to admit a moment of envy as he observed the men below. His own guard were adept enough, although the number of prisoners who had succeeded in escaping the dungeons over the past years was perhaps a little worrying, but their skills did not even begin to compare with the men he saw before him now.

Lancelot stood at the edge of the field shouting commands to the men, his voice loud enough to be heard clearly even at this distance, while before him the guards flawlessly executed a series of battle formations with their spears. Their actions were calm and confident, every man moving effortlessly in sync with his companions as they performed complicated movements – these men might not have been able to fight to the standard of Camelot's knights, but Arthur had no doubt that as a team they would make a formidable fighting force.

Well, mostly. There was one skinny youth in the back rank who seemed to have fallen one step behind the rest of the men, his loosely held spear swinging wildly with his movements and in constant danger of hitting or poking another of the guards. Lancelot had to keep stopping the training to correct his posture or footwork, and Arthur could see the rest of the guards growing impatient with the interruptions.

Digging his hands into his armpits, and hopping from side to side gently against the cold, Arthur waited patiently for the training to finish.

He didn't have long to wait. Lancelot ran through the exercise a few more times, just long enough for the cold to seep through Arthur's boots to his toes, before calling a halt. As the guards saluted and began to scatter, most back in the direction of the barracks while others busied themselves with the weapons and equipment that remained on the field, Arthur left his position by the gate and made his way towards the Captain.

"You men, I need someone to check the spears – some seem a little blunt, they'll need sharpening before tomorrow. Oh, Barret – I'm relieving you of gate duty this afternoon, we need more guards in the dungeons tonight. _Griflet_! Why are you still here, you're on duty at the castle this morning! No, come here, give those shields to me… Right, off with you –report to me_ the minute _you're off duty."

Lancelot spotted Arthur as he approached the edge of the field, acknowledging him with a tilt of the head as he handed a collection of battered shields to a waiting guard and retrieving a couple of stout sticks from another as he passed – the steady stream of instructions continuing all the while. As Arthur entered the training ground, dodging to one side to let the skinny youth, Griflet, past, he was beckoned over by the Captain.

"Eric, the King and his advisors are meeting in the council chamber this evening – I've had word extra security might be needed. Round up a couple of good men, and report to me this afternoon for your instructions. Arthur! Catch."

Instinct had Arthur catching the stave tossed to him by the guard captain with little difficulty – a small smile forming on his face as a memory came to him of a similar encounter many years ago outside the stables, back before Lancelot was knighted the first time. He had a feeling he knew where things were going.

Sure enough, with little more than a brief "Defend yourself", Lancelot attacked him.

Arthur defended himself easily against the initial flurry of attacks, almost lazily parrying and blocking Lancelot's swings as his opponent slowly built up the speed and complexity of his strikes. Slowly the fight became more vicious, Lancelot's weapon thrusting and twirling expertly as he sought to test Arthur's skill.

Still, Arthur knew that Lancelot wasn't yet fighting to the best of his ability – he had trained alongside the knight for over a year, he knew what the man was capable of. Lancelot was testing him, toying with him almost, trying to discover what he was capable of. Growing tired of the game, Arthur decided to up the competition a little – shifting his feet slightly, he looked for an opening in Lancelot's attack, deflected his incoming weapon easily and seamlessly switched from the defensive to attack. Before the guard realised what had happened, Arthur was the one in control, shifting the speed of his blows to turn the match into a _proper_ fight.

A grin suddenly appeared on Lancelot's face, the light of challenge kindled in his eyes. Within seconds the two men were fighting in earnest.

Arthur was dimly aware that the activity around the field had stopped, guards leaving their work to gather round the fight, cheers and whistles filling the air as the men egged their Captain on. Focused as he was on his opponent, however, his audience was only a minor distraction.

The bout lasted for some time, both men shifting alternately from attack to defence and back again as they sparred across the field. Lancelot had always been one of Arthur's greatest knights, one of the few men who could truly match him in swordplay, and he relished the opportunity to fight him again – both men were sweating and panting with exertion long before the bout finished, but still the flurry of attacks continued, the two fighters equally matched and unwilling to concede defeat.

In the end there was only one way the fight could end. Lancelot may have been an exceptional swordsman, but he was fighting against an unfamiliar opponent – Arthur, by contrast, knew Lancelot's style, knew what to expect. All it took was one false move on the Captain's part, a swing of his weapon a little too wide after a particularly vicious block, and Arthur was able to dart in and take advantage – his weapon swinging through the air and connecting with Lancelot's wrist, sending his stave flying through the air and winning Arthur the match.

Lowering his weapon to the ground, leaning slightly against the support it provided, Arthur took a few steadying breaths. Blood was still pounding in his ears and he could feel the adrenaline rushing through his veins – in short, he felt fantastic. The world around him was coming slowly back into focus, and a grin split his face as he heard the whoops and cheers from the men around him. Across from him, Lancelot had a similar grin on his face – although Arthur couldn't help but notice that he was grasping the wrist of his right hand quite tightly.

Shooing away the men surrounding them, Lancelot beckoned to Arthur and walked silently from the field.

* * *

Lancelot's 'office' was a small room in one of the barracks, a tiny cubicle of stone with a narrow unglazed slit in one wall providing light. A narrow wooden desk was pushed against the wall below the window, a half-used candle and a small stack of parchment stacked neatly upon it. On the opposite wall, a rough shelf housed a small collection of books, ancient looking tomes with the bindings almost falling off and the titles long since worn away. Two chairs filled the rest of the narrow space, basic utilitarian things with hard backs and wobbly legs. The only concession to comfort in the room was a small tapestry that hung on the far wall, a simple cross-stitched image showing a knight on a white horse charging a griffin.

Arthur surveyed the room quietly, seating himself on one of the rickety chairs while Lancelot murmured something to a guard outside the door. After a few short moments, he too entered the room and sat down opposite him.

The two men hadn't spoken as they strode together from the field, only sharing occasional grins during their walk to the barracks. Arthur had felt a small twinge of guilt as he watched the way Lancelot held his wrist, which had clearly been injured at the end of the bout, but the guard seemed to be in high spirits despite the damage. They had arrived together at the barracks, and Lancelot had led the way to his office.

"I'm sorry about your wrist." Arthur was the first to break the silence, his guilt at the injury getting the better of him.

"Don't be, I've just sent for the healer but I'm sure it's only a minor injury. Besides," Lancelot's grin widened, a look of admiration entering his eyes, "it was worth it, to fight against such an opponent! Where did you learn swordplay?"

"Er…" Obviously Arthur couldn't tell the truth, but it still felt wrong to lie to Lancelot. "I've been fighting all my life." True enough, if a little vague. "What about you?" He asked quickly, to throw Lancelot off the trail.

"The same. My village was attacked by raiders when I was a child – I taught myself swordplay so that I would never again be helpless in the face of tyranny. I came here, to Camelot, in the hopes of proving myself." There was a sadness in Lancelot's eyes as he spoke, a hint of poorly concealed bitterness beneath his smile.

Arthur couldn't help but glance at the tapestry behind Lancelot's head – he knew well enough that the man had wanted to be a knight, and had lived by the ideals of honour and chivalry more than any other man he knew. But Arthur also knew that his father would never have accepted a common born man as a Knight of Camelot.

It wasn't hard to figure out how Lancelot had ended up in the guard instead, and Arthur couldn't help but admire the man's strength. His dream was shattered, and yet he still chose to stay in Camelot and protect its people to the best of his ability.

"What of you?" Lancelot's broke the awkward silence that had suddenly fallen. "Where do you hail from?"

Once again Arthur was momentarily stumped – it wasn't like he could say 'Camelot', not after the fiasco that had got him locked up in the dungeons on that first night. Floundering for a moment, he chose the first name that popped up in his head.

"Ealdor."

"In Cenred's kingdom?" Oh, so Lancelot knew of it then.

"Yes."

"I travelled there some months ago, it seemed a friendly place." Lancelot frowned momentarily. "I don't seem to recall seeing you there, though."

"I left a few years ago." He really hoped Lancelot wouldn't continue this line of questioning, it was difficult enough already.

"Very well." Arthur breathed an internal sigh of relief. "Can I ask where you're staying in the city? Do you have family here? Friends?"

"I have a room at the Rising Sun – I don't know anyone here." Well, they didn't know _him_ at any rate, which was more or less the same.

"Well, guards are expected to lodge in the barracks during the first few years in service – you'll have a bed in one of the larger dormitories, food is provided in the canteen. Guards with wives and children live in the town, as well as our more experienced men." Lancelot's tone was suddenly businesslike, as he pulled a worn ledger from a shelf beneath the desk. "Pay for a new gua-"

"Wait a minute!" Arthur raised a hand to stop him, his eyes widening in surprise. "How did you know that was what I came here to ask? And after what I did the other day, why would you trust me?"

"Why else would you seek me out at the training grounds?" Lancelot answered the first question, before frowning slightly in confusion. "And my men have been watching you these past days Arthur, from what they tell me you haven't shown any more outward hostility to magic users. Besides, there's something about you... I just had a feeling, like I could trust you. And I knew that if I offered you a position in the guards you would take it – I was certain. Is that strange?"

"A little." Arthur shifted uncomfortably. "But I think I understand what you mean. You were saying?" he added in an attempt to change the subject.

"Yes, well. As a new guardsman, you'll receive a silver a week in pay – its not a lot, I know, but food and board is provided. As you rise up the ranks, as I'm sure you will, the pay will increase – you'll be informed of that as the time comes. You'll also be docked pay during the first month for equipment and armour – the armoury is in the next building, you'll report there after we're finished here. Any repairs or replacements to equipment or armour you'll have to pay for yourself, and you will be expected to take care of your own kit. Any questions so far?"

"Can I have my sword back?" That was a question that had really been bothering him – he had been worrying about Excalibur since he had lost it all those days ago, both Taliesin's warning and his own attachment to the blade circling in his head. The thought of anyone else using that sword was… well, unthinkable.

"Of course – we have kept it safe, as promised. It will be returned to you in the armoury, I'll send a document with you so you can retrieve it. Most of our guardsmen do not carry swords – spears are the standard issue, and most of our recruits have little idea how to handle a blade. However, I think we'll allow it in your case – a gift like yours shouldn't be wasted."

"Thankyou." Arthur was relieved, he had been worried that he would have to further prove himself to Lancelot before he was granted his sword back.

"Can you read?"

Lancelot's question took Arthur by surprise. "Of course!"

"Good, a lot of our men can't. In that case," here Lancelot stood up, retrieving one of the battered books from the shelf. "This here is a copy of Camelot's laws and regulations, as well as most of the rules and procedures you will need as a guard. You'll learn much of what you need on the job, but it helps to have the theoretical knowledge to supplement it. Read that, you'll be tested in two weeks. As for training – you'll be put under the supervision of one of our more experience men for the first two weeks, he'll make sure you learn everything you need to know. Then you'll have a trial period of one month, after which you'll either be sworn in to full service if we're happy with your performance, or asked to leave. Do you understand?"

Arthur nodded. He was finding being lectured like a student from _Lancelot_ of all people, who had always treated him as a superior, a little odd – but otherwise the message was clear. Two weeks training, one month trial period, if we don't like you, you leave. Simple.

"Very well, I'll give you these forms for you to take to the armoury. They'll measure you up for your uniform and return your sword to you before you leave. You can have the rest of the day to settle in and collect your things from the inn – I'll send a man to find you in the armoury to show where you'll be staying. Report back here this time tomorrow and I'll fill you in on your duties for the day. Now just give me a moment…"

Lancelot wrestled with the pen for a few moments with his sore wrist, before giving in and filling in the papers roughly with his left hand – and looking at the result with some scepticism.

"There, hopefully they won't question that too much… Just send them my way if there are any problems." He handed the forms over before showing Arthur to the door. "The armoury should be easy enough to find – its in the next building, the way is clearly signposted. I'll see you tomorrow."

And with that, Lancelot nodded politely and closed the door, leaving Arthur standing alone in the corridor.

Shoving the sheaf of parchment below one arm and clutching the ancient book in his hand, he set off down the corridor in the direction Lancelot had indicated. Turning out of a door into the sunlight, he looked out over the yard that separated the various guard buildings, a wide street of dirt bordered on one side by the low stone barracks and on the other by the city wall.

It was still morning, but the day was already well underway – the noise of the town could be heard clearly from beyond the barracks buildings, the bustle of people going about their business; cries of vendors in the market, the creak of cart wheels and steady plod of horses and oxen on the cobbled streets, the barking of dogs and laughter of children. Arthur smiled, letting the familiar sounds of the city wash over him as he stood sheltered from the wind in the gentle warmth of the sun.

The yard he stood in was busy too, with guards filling the small space. Some sat against walls, talking and laughing with friends while on their breaks, others striding across the space with purpose or doing odd jobs like sharpening spears and polishing helmets. Arthur took in the scene, before turning towards his destination – only to collide with a skinnier man who had just appeared around a corner.

Arthur barely had a second to glance at the familiar face, before the man had brushed past him with a muttered apology and disappeared through the doorway behind him, but it was enough to make a lasting impression.

Merlin looked tired. That was Arthur's first thought, strange as it sounded. In the brief second he had seen him, the one impression that had struck him was how worn his friend looked – there were noticeable bags under his eyes, and there was something… _off_ about the expression on his face. It wasn't so much that he looked unhappy; rather, he looked blank, as if any thoughts were hidden behind a mask.

He had seen Merlin look serious before, of course he had – he had even seen him upset or angry, although those occurrences were rare. But no matter Merlin's mood, he always wore his emotions on his face – Arthur may not have always understood what was running through his manservant's mind, but he usually knew what he was feeling. Laughing, crying, thoughtful, angry; Merlin wore his emotions on his sleeve for the world to see.

To see him just then, his face closed off and expressionless – it was unnerving. Arthur didn't think he had ever seen Merlin look so serious, or so old.

It wasn't only that, either. Merlin's clothes had always been shabby – never mind that he was manservant to the King of Camelot and had an image to maintain, never mind that with his wages he could easily afford a decent set of clothes; he still chose to wear the same combination of colourful tunic and tattered neckerchief he had been wearing the day he arrived in Camelot. The quality of the clothes might have improved slightly over the years, but the basic pattern remained the same.

This world's Merlin looked far worse for wear. He was wearing a faded grey tunic, belted over a pair of overlarge breeches with a patch sewn into one knee. A tattered red cloak completed the ensemble and provided the only colour; hanging loosely from his shoulders, with ragged sleeves reaching to his elbows, it draped around his body but left his arms free. He was carrying a bag around one shoulder that looked like it was held together only by a piece of twine, and Arthur could hear the distinct tinkle of glassware knocking together from within.

Arthur was almost tempted to follow Merlin back into the building – he hadn't seen many familiar faces during his time in this world, but of all of them Merlin's seemed the most changed. He wanted to take another look at his manservant, talk to him, find out if his first impression had been justified – and, if so, what had happened to change him so much from the cheerfully wise friend he had left behind.

But he didn't, forcing himself to turn away and walk towards the armoury. There would be time enough for investigating later, time enough to find answers to _all_ the question that plagued him – not just about Merlin, but about his mother, magic, the state of the kingdom; all the things that rendered this world so unfamiliar. But, for now, he had his orders.

He was a guard of Camelot.

And he _really _wanted his sword back.

**A/N: Sorry about the wait... I had serious writers block - a case of 'I-know-where-I'm-going-but-can't-quite-figure-out-how-to-get-there'-itis. It should be resolved now, and Jane Mays deserves a special thankyou for regularly prompting me too just get on with it and write! Anyway, so this chapter probably isn't my best work, but everything is in place now for the main plot :)**

**(Yes, 11 chapters of set-up - this is going to be a looooong fic... It may even have to become two...)**

**So, thankyou to all the wonderful reviewers/favouriters/alerters! I'm useless at replying to reviews, but I really do appreciate them all - I never expected to get such a positive response from all of you :) I won't promise to update more regularly in future, as I am clearly incapable of keeping said promise, but I want you all to know that _the intention is there!_**


	12. Heir

**Chapter 12 - Heir**

"Stop fidgeting!" Eric's hissed admonishment broke the silence of the hallway, empty at this moment save for the four guards who stood there at attention, their eyes watchful and their faces devoid of emotion.

"Can't help it!" Arthur hissed back irritably while tugging at the neck of his chain-mail shirt, a hint of red material just visible through the collar. "It's this jerkin; I think it's got fleas in it."

Arthur's second morning as a guard of Camelot found him stationed at the doors to the council chamber in the citadel. Eric, a gruff middle-aged guard who had been assigned to him by Lancelot as his mentor, stood several feet away from him on the other side of the door while two further guards faced them stoically from across the corridor.

For the past two hours very little had happened. They had changed position once, rotating the watch for no other purpose than to briefly stretch their legs, before settling back into silence – the occasional cough or shuffle the only deviation from the routine. Very little, in fact, to distract Arthur from the relentless itching of the uniform he had been provided with the previous morning.

"Nah," replied one of the younger guards. "The clothes are fine, they get washed once a week, regular – it's the beds you've got to worry about. Full of lice they are."

"Hush!" Eric hissed again, just as a servant entered the corridor – shooting a suspicious glare towards the men standing to attention as he passed.

Arthur was learning rather quickly that there was nothing glamorous about the life of a guard.

Today was Arthur's first day inside the citadel since he had arrived in this Camelot a week ago. The previous day had been spent patrolling the lower town with Eric; it had been a relatively simple day, dedicated to learning his basic duties and being drilled in the responsibilities of the guard (most of which Arthur already knew, not that he could admit that to his tutor). He hadn't had to undertake much actual guarding, Eric making sure that his student simply understood the basics of the job and knew where all the main guard posts were within the town – the gates, the marketplace and the main road.

By the end of the day, Arthur had been walked through most of the main duties of the guard within the town. Once he had completed his training period in a couple of weeks he would be added to the rota; some weeks would be spent working under the direct command of one of the knights, undertaking patrols both within the city and the surrounding countryside, while on other days he would be stationed at various posts within the city and the citadel. If he performed his duties well, he might even be assigned as a guard to various nobles or councilmen who lived within the castle.

The basic posts within the town covered, he had been informed that the next day would be spent within the citadel.

He had almost dreaded this moment, the moment he would set foot inside the replica of the castle he called his home, worried about what changes he would find – it had been hard enough noticing the differences within the lower town. But, once he arrived in the citadel, all such worries had vanished. The light and airy corridors that led from the main entrance to the council chamber were just as he remembered, the tapestries and statues as rich and well kept as the ones back home.

From his vantage point outside the council chamber, Arthur had watched the denizens of the castle passing by on their daily routines. Servants hurrying past loaded down with laundry or rolls of parchment or trays of food, courtiers and noblemen striding by alone or in pairs, the occasional knight leading a small patrol and nodding to the guards as he passed.

Twice, Arthur had watched Guinevere hurrying by. The first time she appeared around the corner Arthur had tried to stop himself from staring too hard; she had glanced up at him as she shuffled by with her basket of laundry, but her eyes slid past his without acknowledging his presence, her gaze distant and her brow creased in a worried frown. The lack of recognition in her eyes had hurt him, even though he had known to expect it. The second time she came by, this time in the other direction with a vase of flowers clutched in her hands, Arthur had forced himself to keep staring forwards – but even so, he hadn't been able to help but notice the nervous glance she sent in the direction of the council chamber doors before she hurried away.

That was probably when he started to notice it, the undercurrent of tension in the castle. After spotting Gwen's furtive glances towards the doors he began to see them more and more – servants who passed by shooting speculative looks in the direction of the council chamber, the nobles with their heads bent together in discussion, their voices hushed as they debated with each other in an undertone…

There was something going on in the castle, and whatever it was it was making the people who lived there nervous. Racking his brain, Arthur thought back to his own kingdom, trying to remember what had been happening when he left – if there was anything that might have set everyone on edge this way.

The treaty with Vortigern, maybe? No, that wasn't due to be signed for another few months yet – the Welsh King was waiting until the spring to travel, once negotiations were complete. What else? Well the city here had clearly not been attacked by Morgana recently – there was no sign of battle, anyway, and from what Arthur had heard his half-sister was still Uther's loving ward in this world.

There was nothing else Arthur could think of – he wouldn't have left his city in the first place had there been trouble brewing; he may have felt stifled, but he took his duties as King seriously and cared for his Kingdom.

No, whatever it was that had the people of Camelot worrying and whispering amongst themselves, it was unique to this world.

It was several hours at least before there was any change in the activity outside the council chambers – Arthur's limbs had begun to stiffen up from the prolonged period he had spent standing to attention, and he could feel the first stirrings of hunger in his stomach. Counsellors began to gather in the area beside the doors, huddling together in twos or threes with stacks of parchment clutched in their arms and nervous expressions on their faces, muttering to each other in undertones.

Arthur stood up a little straighter, turning his attention to the men. He recognised most of the counsellors, old advisors of his father who had worked alongside Uther for most of Arthur's life – some of whom still advised the new King, though he had chosen to remove the more conservatively minded men from his council. Old Geoffrey of Monmouth was there, one of the few men standing alone in the hallway with his gaze fixed on a half-unrolled scroll of parchment, and Sir Ector, the man who had trained Arthur in swordsmanship. There were others there, though, men Arthur didn't recognise – although there was one man with dirty blond hair who looked strangely familiar, and who seemed to be setting some kind of warning bell off at the back of Arthur's mind…

Tearing his eyes from the man whose face Arthur couldn't quite place, he focused instead on the whispers, trying to subtly eavesdrop on the conversations happening just before him.

Unfortunately, he couldn't make out much of what they were saying – it seemed the men were determined to keep their words a secret. He was able to distinguish a few words, however, even if out of context they were of little use to him.

"…the Queen…running out of time…Morgana…Camelot needs…Uther… decision…"

And another word, one that made Arthur's blood run cold.

"…heir…"

"Make way for the King!"

Any further thoughts were banished as the guards in the corridor snapped to attention, Sir Leon's voice breaking through the murmur of the gathered men. Remembering his position as a guard, Arthur reigned in his suddenly spiralling thoughts and helped Eric open the chamber doors – his attention focusing on the two figures following the knight down the corridor.

The last time Arthur had seen his father, Uther had been a broken man; bent under the pain of betrayal and loss, a shell of a man lost in his own mind – a grieving old man who had, in his last moment of lucidity, given his own life to save that of his son.

The King who swept towards them now was not the shadow he had become in Arthur's world – here, instead, strode a strong ruler; no longer in his prime, perhaps, but still a majestic figure and a force to be reckoned with. Here was the man Arthur missed, the King he admired and had tried to live up to – even if he had not necessarily always agreed with his decisions.

However, the mingled sensations of sadness and love that swept over Arthur as he saw his father once again were quickly lost as his eyes slid to the woman who walked at his arm.

He had known this moment was coming – it was inevitable once he joined the guard. But even so, it still came as something of a shock to see her there; and even had he been prepared, he still would have had no idea what to expect when the time finally came.

_Morgana._

He knew that in this world she remained the ward of the King – and yet, he also knew that even here she had turned to sorcery. He had heard enough over the past days to know that she was actually respected for her gifts – that, as a powerful sorceress, she somehow retained the love and admiration of Uther. Since Morgana's betrayal all those years ago, Arthur had been left with two separate images of his half-sister in his head – two strong memories; both of the compassionate woman she had been so long ago, and the merciless witch she had become.

Two distinct personalities that, no matter how hard he tried, he had never been able to reconcile in his mind.

But here she was: Morgana the sorceress, loving ward to Uther Pendragon.

At first glance she looked exactly like the girl he remembered from before the arrival of Morgause. Dressed in a beautiful green gown, she walked alongside the King smiling politely at the counsellors who bowed as they passed – the smile widening as she turned to face her father and they entered the council chambers together. She looked happy and beautiful and every inch the princess that she was.

And yet… Perhaps it was because Arthur had other memories of her, darker memories that had tainted his more joyful recollections, but something about the woman on Uther's arm grated at him. Her smile, which at first glance looked loving, to him seemed more… smug. The thankful nod to the guards who held the door open seemed almost condescending; her gaze, when it fell on the counsellors, appeared almost disdainful.

Maybe it was just because he was looking too closely; after all, he had always berated himself for missing the signs of Morgana's betrayal the first time she returned to Camelot. But, no matter how Arthur tried, he just couldn't bring himself to see the loving, compassionate woman she used to be – the image of the witch was too firmly imprinted in his mind.

As he stared after the woman he had once loved as a sister, however, a cough from another guard returned him to the present. Remembering his new position in the citadel, Arthur joined Eric in pulling the chamber doors closed on the tableau in the council chamber; on his father smiling dotingly at his illegitimate daughter while he helped her into a chair and Morgana smirked sweetly back.

Forcing any emotion off his face, Arthur turned to nod stoically the rest of the guards who had congregated outside the door.

"Pay attention, boy – the King's council is private business, and its our duty to keep it that way." Despite his tone, Eric almost seemed amused. "Don't get distracted – no matter how beautiful the Lady Morgana is."

"I'm sorry?!" Arthur stuttered, his face going red as the other guards laughed. Clearing his throat, Arthur returned to his position by the doors and fixed his gaze determinately on the wall before him.

He needed to remember that he was only a guard here, that he wasn't a Prince or a King, or even a Knight – that he had no part in the lives of the Royal Family here in this Camelot.

Otherwise he was going to get himself into trouble.

* * *

"D'you reckon, if I asked him, the Captain would let me have the day off next Saturday?"

Arthur grunted noncommittally, focusing on the tunic he was holding up to the light of the window – Griflet had been babbling incessantly for the last half hour, and Arthur was learning quickly that it was best to ignore the young man if you didn't want to get drawn into some endless circular conversation.

His own thoughts were too busy spinning on what he had seen this morning. Morgana and his father, walking arm in arm down the corridors of Camelot.

"Only, its my sisters wedding, and I promised her I'd ask the Captain for time off weeks ago, but I've not been here long and I didn't think it would look good if I asked for time off too soon and, um, then I kind've forgot… and, well, d'you think I might've left it too late?"

What had that council meeting this morning been about, anyway? Why was everyone up at the castle so on edge?

Frowning in concentration, Arthur focused on the needle he had so painstakingly threaded and brought it purposefully to the tear in the fabric; with a determined frown he forced the needle through the rough fabric – right into the flesh of his thumb.

_Camelot… heir…_

"You even listening? What're you doing, anyway?"

"Hm?" Arthur turned towards Griflet's aggrieved voice, sucking the blood from his thumb as he did so. "Sorry. There's a hole in my tunic, I'm trying to mend it. You were saying? Damn it!" Bending to retrieve the needle he had dropped to the floor, he turned once again to the window – and set about trying to re-thread the needle once again.

"D'you need help?" the boy approached Arthur and lent over his handiwork – blocking the light from the sun, much to Arthur's irritation.

"What? No! I can manage." His pride refusing to admit defeat, he shifted round to get better light and set about trying to sew the rip together once again – this time with a lot more care for his fingers. "After all" he admitted in an undertone "it can't be that hard – Merlin can do it"

"So, anyway, d'you think I've left it too late? About Saturday, I mean?"

"Oh, for goodness sake, boy!" Eric shouted across the room from where he lay on his bunk, the book he had been reading shoved to one side. "Just ask the Captain yourself! He'll be in his office this evening – just go and talk to him, there's no harm in trying."

"You really-"

"Just, shut up!" Arthur's patience cracked, his outburst momentarily silencing the boy. He turned back to his tunic, noting in disbelief that he wasn't even halfway along the tear yet but already seemed to be running out of thread – and the small part he had managed to mend was all lumpy and mangled, the thread clearly visible and poking through the fabric at strange angles, nothing like the neat repairs that Merlin and Gwen managed. "Oh, for-"

Throwing the half repaired tunic back across the room to his bunk, he sank down onto the hard bench that ran the length of the wall beneath the windows.

The room Arthur shared with a dozen other guards was a long cold room of bare stone. A row of narrow beds graced the wall furthest from the tiny windows, a simple wardrobe and a lockable chest beside each. The only other furniture in the room was a large rack on the far wall to hold armour and weapons, and a small stove in the centre of the room that provided the only source of heat.

All in all, it was cold, bleak and uncomfortable – and not like anything Arthur had experienced before. He had stayed in more uncomfortable places, of course, but never for such an extended period – he had only been here two nights, and already he dreaded the idea of months on end without the comfort of his chambers in the castle.

"So, we know anything about this new guard, then?"

Arthur groaned – Griflet, it seemed, was not one to stay quiet for long. The boy was worse than Merlin.

And it wasn't like there was anybody else to distract him. The room was silent at this hour, most of the guards either on duty or down in the common room. There were only three of them in the room, resting in preparation for going back on duty after the evening bell.

"Arrived this morning." Eric grunted in reply. "Don't know much about him, we were on duty when he came by earlier. Should be along soon, though – he's with the Captain at the moment."

When Arthur had arrived two days ago, he had been assigned one of the few bed spaces left. Only one other bed in this room had been free, and it appeared that even it had now been filled – the Camelot guard was apparently quite a popular profession among the young men of the city.

"What d'you think he'll be like, Arthur?" Griflet turned towards him eagerly – the boy had taken quite a shine to the older man, something to do with his performance on the training fields with Lancelot the other day, and seemed to be trying everything he could to get him to talk. "Think he'll be good with a sword, too?"

"No idea, never met him." He turned away, angling himself so he could look out of the window onto the narrow courtyard outside, his chin in his hand.

"Oh." There was a moment of silence before Griflet spoke up again. "I've always wanted to learn – maybe if he's good, he could teach me! Or, you could."

But Arthur wasn't listening, his attention drawn to the woman walking across the square, basket in hand. Guinevere, a shawl around her shoulders and a smile one her face.

What was she doing down here at the barracks?

"Arthur?"

"Never mind him, son. He's too busy lusting after the Lady Morgana to pay you any attention."

"What?!" Arthur's head span round to face Eric so fast it sent shooting pains down his neck. Lifting one hand to the ache, he glared at the senior guard. "What are you talking about?"

"I saw you this morning, the way you were watching her." The older man seemed amused, both at Arthur's reaction and Griflet's stunned face. "There's no denying she's beautiful, but she's way out of your league, and don't you forget it."

"That's- there's nothing… I wasn't lusting after her, you have no idea what you're talking about!" So it wasn't the most convincing of retorts, Arthur had to admit, but the horror of what Eric was suggesting rendered him momentarily inarticulate.

Yes, he had once been attracted to Morgana, that was true. But now, knowing that she was his _sister_… And, of course, after everything she had done to Camelot over the past few years…

No. Just… no.

"Very well, if you say so." Eric still seemed amused, but at least he looked ready to drop the subject. "I'll leave you to pine in silence, then." The grin he threw Arthur's way was teasing, and Arthur found himself warming to the man.

"…Thanks. I appreciate that." He grinned back.

"Is it true she's going to be our next Queen?" The grins fell from their faces as both men turned to stare at the youngest companion.

"What?" Griflet stared back innocently. "The whole town's talking about it – everyone knows she's Uther's daughter."

"Be careful what you say, Griflet." Eric's tone was hard. "The rumours haven't been confirmed, not by the King at least. It isn't our place to talk about matters of state."

"But, its not like Uther's going to be King much longer, he's an old man – we need an heir, everyone says so."

"I don't care what 'everyone says'. Queen Ygraine is the rightful heir to the throne, not the Lady Morgana – not until its confirmed otherwise."

Arthur's heart was racing. No heir. Of course, he had suspected it since he overheard the counsellors this morning, but hearing it outright like this… No heir – that was what had got the people of Camelot on edge.

Queen Ygraine never gave birth to Arthur in this world, which meant that King Uther had no legitimate heir…

So, when he died...

_Morgana_ would have the rightful claim to the throne.

It made Arthur's blood boil just thinking about it. Alright, so maybe Morgana really wasn't the evil sorceress in this world that she was in his own… but, even so, every fibre of Arthur's being rebelled at the very idea of _that woman_ on his throne. There was no way, in this universe or any other, he would trust the wellbeing of his people to that_ witch._

Dimly, through his rolling emotions, Arthur was aware that Eric and Griflet were still talking.

"Anyway, I'm sure the Lady Morgana would make a much better ruler than King Uther." Griflet retorted stubbornly.

"Hold your tongue, boy, that's treason you're speaking." There seemed to be more worry than genuine anger in Eric's tone, his eyes darting nervously to the doors of the chamber.

"It's true! It's not like _he_ cares much about his people – not those of us who aren't nobles anyway." The younger man's retort was sullen. "It's all feasting and tournaments up at the castle, and down here people are going hungry! When was the last time King Uther visited the lower town, huh? What does he know about the problems of his people? At least the Lady Morgana tries to help!"

"A few bits of food and some clothes here and there, maybe" Eric replied more quietly. "But what good is that in the long run? Queen Ygraine does far more for the people of this city than the Lady Morgana ever will, and you know it."

"My mother says that Queen Ygraine is too scared of the King to speak out. She says that there is too much injustice in this city and we need a new ruler, a _proper_ one. One who cares about _all_ the people, not just the people up at the big castle."

"I don't care what your mother says. King Uther is our King. He has kept this kingdom safe for over thirty years, and he deserves our respect." Eric's voice was calm now, his tone firm. "This Kingdom would be a much worse place had he not taken the throne all those years ago. Remember that."

Griflet's mouth snapped shut, though his eyes still held a rebellious edge. But it seemed that, for now at least, Eric's words had been enough to silence him.

Arthur, meanwhile, had watched the entire exchange with his mouth hanging open.

Was this what the people of _his_ kingdom thought? Had they believed, once, that Morgana would make a better ruler than Uther? That the King didn't care for their welfare?

No, Arthur would have known, surely… He had spent much of the last few years walking among the people of the lower town, he would have noticed their discontent. And even if he hadn't, Guinevere or Merlin surely would have done – and Arthur knew that neither one of them would have held back if they believed that he was doing something wrong in the ruling of the Kingdom…

The tension in the room was growing uncomfortable, the three men staring at each other, no knowing how to break the silence.

Thankfully, at that minute the door to the room creaked open and three heads whipped round to face the newcomer.

"Oh, I'm sorry – am I interrupting something?"

Arthur stared. Right there, filling the small doorway, red hair falling across his eyes and strangely familiar grin in place, stood Cadal.

**A/N: Writers block again, can't seem to shake it off... sorry! I'm having some difficulty writing Arthur, Merlin is so much easier... Anyway, I'm going to try to be more prompt with the next chapter (although I do have a job interview this week which is stressing me out, so no promises!).**

**Thanks again for all the lovely reviews :) I've decided to go through them all to thank you all properly, as I really do appreciate them and I'm generally quite useless at replying... But yes, for all the reviews/favourites/alerts, thank you so much!**

**Also, really really sad at the coming end of Merlin :) The show got me through Uni (seriously, the first episode aired on the first Saturday of freshers week!), and its been a staple of my life for five years. I strongly expect a period of grief at the end of December equal to (or possibly greater than) the one that followed completing the last Harry Potter book or learning that Terry Pratchett has alzheimers. This may result either in a period of excessive creativity that leads to regular posting of chapters, or a prolonged absence from this site.**

**Let us hope for the former.**

**(On a hopefully non-spoilery side-note: there may one day come a time when I can watch the final 15 minutes of 5x09 without finding it excruciatingly painful. I may one day see the funny side. Today is not that day.)**


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